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moonlightsolo · 1 year

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can you write neteyam and human reader you’re exploring in the forest and ends up losing you and when he finds you after searching for a long time you’re actually having so much fun gathering things and running around and it’s all cute and protective! ^.^

i looove nete n human reader it’s my weakness … i hope u like this!!!

“nete! c’mon!” you call out to your boyfriend as you run amongst the trees. you giggle as you leap over a fallen log in one fluid motion, somehow landing on your feet over the other side.

“hey!” your boyfriends accented voice cackles from behind you, but your feet refuse to relent. obviously, if he really wanted to catch up to you, he would. his long legs give him the advantage. your head dodges branches, and vines, and your legs hop over rocks as you sprint through the foliage.

something bright catches your eyes next to your swift feet, stopping you in your tracks. you’re finally able to take a deep breath as you slowly backtrack. right at the base of a tree trunk, three bright pink flowers sit buried in the dirt, rustling slightly in the wind.

a fwäkìwll; a mantis orchid.

the huffing and puffing boy catches up to you, his usual unruly braids are secured behind his head. with two that must’ve escaped that frame his face perfectly, “you’re nuts, you know that?” he laughs breathlessly.

“look!” you bend down to examine the flora, admiring the softness of the petals, “oh my, it’s so beautiful.”

neteyam can’t help but giggle at how you gawk over a simple little plant. something he’ll never understand, but he will always appreciate your fascination.

your hands reach into the small bag slung across your body to pull out a notebook, flipping to an empty page to sketch a rough draft of the flowers.

his large four-fingered hand rests on the top of your head to softly rustle your hair, pressing his fingers into your skin to slightly massage your scalp. your head angles up to look at him, smiling wide at your boy before stuffing your head back into your book.

your pencil scratches satisfyingly against the lined paper; instinctively bringing your lip between your teeth as you focus.

“i’ll be right back, okay? stay here, my love.” neteyam pats your head as you nod, but truly his words went in one ear and out the other. it was something about him leaving, but your attention is taken up by the flower.

once you have a few key points labeled on your little picture, you finally close the book. your eyes dart around to seek out the blue skin of your na’vi boyfriend, but something else catches your eye.

behind a wide tree trunk in the distance, you see the edge of a plant. the loreyu; also known as the helicoradian!! you excitedly spring to your feet, and creep toward the giant plant. ducking under thick vines and swatting at buzzing bugs.

on the way there, you stumble upon a small stream that has glittering rocks and gems under the water. obviously, you can’t help but snag a few and store them in your bag— but you can’t let yourself get too off track, so you continue forward.

the salmon-colored spiraled plant is almost twenty feet high, which is ginormous compared to your tiny human body. as you grow closer, you realize the one loreyu is surrounded by clusters of smaller and even bigger ones.

“oh my god.” you breathe out in shock as you carefully weave between the helicoradia; already having the knowledge that if they’re merely brushed against, they’ll retract into the ground.

you mindfully sink to your knees, folding your legs underneath your body as you lean back on your heels. you unlatch the notebook from being pressed against your chest, flipping through the used pages to find the one you’re looking for.

you’ve already observed this plant elsewhere in the forest, so theres a few notes and drawings written down already. you decide to perfect the previous drawing you have in the middle of your page, even sketching a close-up of the edge of the leaf.

you tuck your pencil into the crease of the book before closing it and sliding it back into the safety of your bag. you glance up into the sky, but you can barely make out the blue color from the plants that tower over you.

it’s so serene and peaceful; you’re hidden amongst these intimidating plants that are five times the size of you. it seems like nothing could ever hurt you, as if you’re shielded from the unforgiving environment of pandora.

you carefully lay down against the grassy soil. once your back hits the warm ground, you suck in a deep breath— mentally wishing you could breathe their air to be able to smell the fresh dirt.

although the oxygen mask is your key to survive, it’s also so suffocating. one of the biggest problems it gives you is that you’re unable to kiss neteyam whenever you want. only able to get inside the privacy of your room in the scientists shack, but even he needs his own mask.

wait, neteyam. where is neteyam?!

you abruptly sit up in your spot, suddenly feeling as if you’re claustrophobic from the menancing plants that surround you in every which way. oh god, you’re gonna throw up. your feet scramble to stand as you panic, causing your shoulder to brush against the tendrils of the plant.

with a pop, it sucks itself into the ground. the movement creates a chain reaction that triggers the entire field to recoil into the dirt. you watch as each plant disappears, waiting until the area clears entirely. everything around you looks the same, and absolutely nothing looks familiar.

something firm grasps your upper body from behind, strongly spinning you around to face them.

your frozen expression is met with wide, worried eyes that belong to neteyam, “what are you doing?!? where were you?” he lectures as arms tug you tightly into his chest. he briefly embraces you before pulling away just as fast to stare back down at you.

“i told you to stay where you were! why did you walk away?” his voice cracks from his raw emotion, his honey-colored eyes dart frantically over your face.

“i’m—i’m sorry, i- i didn’t realize i walked so far away… i was just taking notes and… drawing.” your voice stumbles over itself.

his shoulders drop slightly from your anxious voice, his eyes watch how your quickened breath slightly fogs the glass of your mask.

coldness washes over his body when he realizes just how harsh he sounds and the points of his ears droop from his realization, “you scared me. i thought i lost you.” his sharp voice has softened and his tight grip loosens on your shoulders.

you take a step forward to stand in between his feet to wrap yourself around his body, smooshing yourself into the warm skin just above his navel. “i’m sorry i won’t do it again.” you whimper out, your apology slightly muffled.

his hand soothingly cradles the back of your head as he holds you against him, “don’t be sorry.” he tsks, “it’s my fault. i shouldn’t have left you.”

your head angles up to gaze at him, giving him a soft downturned smile, “well, i should’ve listened to what you were saying.”

“s’okay. you’re with me now, that’s all that matters.” his fingers toy with the elastic band of your oxygen mask, itching to rip it off and kiss you; but he knows that he can’t.

“oh! i uh- i found some crystals! i think you can use them for your clothing and your hair beads, ‘n stuff.. do you wanna see?” your hand wiggles your bag persuadingly with an excited grin.

neteyam stares down at you in awe and nods his head, “‘course i wanna see, ma yawntu. show me.” he nudges his nose in the air for you to continue.

your hands rummage through the weaved sack on your hip, pushing past your notebook to the little bag at the bottom filled with the rocks. you pluck it out to dump the contents into your palm, admiring how the multi-colored crystals sparkle under the sunlight.

“those are perfect. i must make you some jewelry out of them.” his eyes brighten from the idea, “what would you like? a necklace or somethin’ else?” one of his fingertips roll the rocks in your palm to examine them, careful not to push them off into the grass.

“really? you‘re gonna make me something?” your voice sounds surprised, which is shocking to him. of course, he is going to make you something; you’re his mate, his muntxate.

when he first courted you, he gifted you a handmade bracelet — which you’re currently still wearing and have no plans to take it off, and the weaved bag that never leaves your side.

“yes, for you, silly. who else would i make jewelry for?” neteyam rolls his eyes at you playfully, a sneaky smirk crawling it’s way onto his lips.

your eyes flit over his face, still surprised, even after all this time, that you’ve bagged yourself a tall, gorgeous, blue alien. something comes over your body, a sudden rush of adrenaline as you suck in a deep breath of your oxygen to hold your breath.

confusion twists over neteyams features as your hand grips the lower part of your mask to push it over the top of your head, “what are you-?” his question is cut off by your hands reaching up to grip the edge of his waist adornment to tug him down to you.

he happily obliges with a pearly grin, ducking his head down to your height to urgently pull you into a kiss. you smile when his lips move against yours and his hand presses into the small of your back to lean your body slightly backwards.

even though kissing him is a rare occasion in itself, it still feels like the first time— every. single. time.

his tail curls around his back to wrap around your upper thigh to hold your body in place, as if his hands aren’t strong enough to do so by themselves.

neteyam reluctantly pulls back, staring down to admire your beauty without something separating him from you. his hand sits heavy on your neck with his fingers curled up under your jaw. his thumb swipes down the bridge of your nose, and over your plump lips before pulling the mask back over your face.

your human features are so soft, and delicate; he can’t help but touch you without your mask whenever he gets the chance.

once the mask is firmly fitted over your face you suck in, a definitely needed, sharp breath. your chest expands as your lungs inhale the air, giving neteyam a small sad smile. “i love you.” you whisper once you’re finally able to talk.

neteyam’s face lights up from those three words, his lanky arms wrap around your tiny frame to lift you into the air to his height. it’s nothing new to express your love to each other, but whenever he hears those words it feels surreal to him.

the sudden change in height makes you squeal, and wrap your arms around his neck for support, “i love you.” he replies and presses his forehead to the glass, which you instantly lean forward into.

“let’s head back to camp. we can get some food, and just hide in your room and do nothing for the rest of the day?” he offers as he lowers you back down to the ground.

when your feet hit the softness of the grass, your hand reaches out to grab his. neteyam’s fingers practically engulf yours, so you decide to hold onto him the best you can.

“sounds like the best idea you’ve had all day.” your voice hums with a content grin.

neteyam gives you a little nod, before looking around to see which way he should go. he begins to walk to lead you back to his ikran, mindful to go slow since his legs are much longer than yours.

but not without his tail wrapping protectively around your leg. this time, he’ll make sure you won’t stray away from his side, not even a little bit...

stop this is so cute i’m in love w this 😭

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the-softest-love-is-ours · 6 months

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Idk if this’ll help anyone or if these are even good… just thought of stuff self shipper could do, I guess.

Anywho, here’s a list of things yo,u as a self shipper, can do for fun.

(This will be added onto with time)

Proship/Comship/Anti-Antis DNI

Play Tomodachi Life, make yourself, your main F/O, and then a bunch of family and friends and see how the shenanigans play out.

Play Sims (my choice is 4, but any one will work), same as before but this time you have mods and can control you and your F/O’s however you please.

Make kandi jewelry for each of your F/O’s, whether it’s a bracelet with their name or just a necklace with a color scheme you think fits them.

Purchase something custom from etsy and/or fiverr. These can be care packages, letters, plushies, art pieces, fanfics, maybe you could find someone who does RP asmrs, and my personal favorites an RP or an annotated book.

Look on youtube for asmrs, whether they’re RP, sleeping beside or those muffled playlist scenarios.

For those of is that are age regressor, make a custom deco paci based on your F/O.

Credits to @myselfshipdiary for this one, make a Pinterest board. They can feature fanart, aesthetic images or heck maybe recipes you would cook for them and memes you would show them.

If you have the skills, or heck even if you don’t (life’s too short, try everything, learn new skills), design something based on them. A dress, a cake, a room, a candy platter, a party, an outfit, a plushie, literally anything!

Make a breakfast, lunch, and/or dinner you think they would like! Maybe if you bring your lunch to work, make a bento for yourself that you would send to work with them.

Go on to your online shopping sites and make wishlists of thing you’d think they would want/like.

Do some research on perfume/cologne, and either track down or commission one you think they’d wear. You can do the same for all necessary toiletries if you’d like to take it a step further.

Play around on spotify (or your music service of choice) and make playlists for various scenarios.

Piggybacking of the last one, find a song that you would make their ringtone and think of what their contact name would be in your phone.

Pick out a ring you think would be the engagement/wedding ring they would give you.

Make paper doll's of you/ your self insert and your f/os) along with attachable paper clothes!

If you have access to a printer and a blank notebook/sketchbook along with some glue, you can make a scrapbook with pictures of your f/o(s)! You can also add drawings you made and anything like stickers, washi tape, etc.

This one is digital, edit a transparent of your f/os) into a selfie of yours to make a couples photo! You can print it out and put it in a frame. Also, Dollar Tree sells frames that you can also paint, put stickers on, anything!

There is an app called Social Dummy, create a social media world with you and all your F/O’s on it!

Make perler bead pixel art of your f/o.

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harringtonisms · 2 years

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people like us

pairing: steve harrington / eddie munson summary: Five times Amanda Driscoll hears about Mr. Harrington’s wife and the One time she realizes it’s his husband. warnings: some angst in #4 and a slight coming out (to herself) arc, hinted at homophobia (nothing explicit) word count: 7.5k a/n: (10/18/2023): a little after a year from the original post date, i decided to go back and edit it. it's still the same story any rereaders know, but all the little plot holes and issues have been fixed and there's 200 more words to read! thank you for reading <3

(og note): this is based off of this post i made! i will be doing a second part to this that follows eddie's bandmates and meeting steve! i hope you enjoy and any feedback, likes, reblogs, comments, ask, are all appreciated!

Read it on AO3

taglist: @zed-zeppeli @valenschmidt @expectocrucio @rel312 @jonathanbyersbbg @beeing-stuupid @ataztuv @noahzanehethey @ludabug @mavernanche @casualherolightbailiff @purplebellybell @phenomenal-bird @persephone13 @gleefully-macabre @darkqloszed @the-baby-goblin @aryanightshade @jojobeaner @specialagentslut-24 @goodomensgurl

1. Monday, August 21st, 1995

Amanda was not one to be late, especially on the first day of school. Her steps echoed in the empty hallway as she rushed to her first period class. In one hand she held a tardy slip. In the other was a ripped piece of notebook paper detailing her homeroom class in smudged blue ink.

Mr. Harrington

U.S. History

Room 114

Having lived in Hawkins her whole life, she’d been attending the same middle school her older sister and both parents attended. This made her rather familiar with the staff at Hawkins Middle and yet she hadn’t recognized Mr. Harrington’s name. Reaching her classroom, she grabbed the handle and pushed it open.

All the desks were arranged in groups of four and there were four groups. Hanging from the ceiling, were pieces of laminated paper designating each desk group a number. The walls were covered in different iconic historical quotes, maps of the worlds, and black and white photos of people Amanda assumed were important. On her teacher’s desk was a small globe, a pencil cup, and a clay pot full of various origamis. Her teacher was leaning against his desk, in the middle of a speech when he was interrupted by the squeak of the door being opened. All eyes landed on Amanda and she squirmed under her peers' watchful gaze. She walked shyly over to Mr. Harrington and handed him her pass.

“Ah, Amanda! Welcome to U.S. History. Uh, here! Grab a syllabus and there’s a free seat at table two! I’m just telling the class a bit about myself.” He smiled politely at her, and motioned toward table two. At table two, Mary and Lj were sitting on the same side, facing the windows, so Amanda chose the seat across from Lj. She quietly sat her stuff down and paid attention to what her teacher was saying.

“Like I was saying, I was born and raised in Hawkins. I walked these very same halls you did once before! It’s actually where I met my current partner, I just didn’t know it at the time. I started at Ivy Tech college before I transferred to Indiana State Teachers College to get my degree. I lived in Chicago with my spouse for a few years and taught at the local high school, before we moved back this past summer to take care of their dad and here we are! I’m also the coach for the basketball team so information about try-outs will go up soon. Now, enough about me. If you’d take a look at your syllabus…”

Mr. Harrington’s voice faded into ambient noise in the background as she looked around her classroom. He’d met his wife right here in this building, and he didn’t even know it at the time. The person Amanda would marry could be sitting right in front of her and she’d never know until she was finally with them. She glanced around and her eyes landed on Louise-Jane Brooks, or Lj as she was typically called. Amanda immediately looked away, a fierce blush painting her cheeks the same color as her hair. That happened almost every time she looked at Lj. How weird is it that someone she’s known since kindergarten made her so nervous? The sun fitted itself through the blinds behind Amanda and illuminated Lj, like she had her own personal spotlight shining down on her. Brown skin, long braids, deep dark eyes turned to honey, and freckles left over from summer time glittered underneath the light and it stirred up something within Amanda that her mind had trouble reconciling with.

“Any questions?” Mr. Harrington’s voice cut through the Lj related fog in Amanda’s mind and her hand immediately shot up.

“You said you met your wife in middle school. How did you know she was the one?” Amanda forced her eyes to stay on Mr. Harrington despite the strange urge to look back at Lj.

“Well I didn’t know I’d marry them in middle school. I didn’t know that I’d marry them until way after college. We met in middle school. We were desk partners in our science class and they taught me how to make origami out of our homework sheets.” He picked up the little clay pot on his desk and pulled out what looked like a pencil. “They made me this little pencil for my first day teaching here.” He returned the origami pencil and the clay pot back to their spot on his desk and looked back out toward his students. “Are there any other questions?...No? Alright we’re gonna head down to the library and grab your textbooks so line up!”

A symphony of chairs screeching against the ground and whispering voices erupted as the students lined up by the door. Much to the delight of Amanda, Lj ended up in front of her. Lj was wearing a baby pink dress with white polka dots and white flats. Amanda tapped Lj’s shoulder and waited for her to turn. She turned and Amanda had to ignore the warmth in her cheeks as she spoke.

“I like your dress!” Lj’s smile grew in response to Amanda’s compliment.

“Thank you, Amy. It has pockets!” and she stuck her hands into the pockets of the dress to show them to Amanda. Amanda went to say something but the line had started to move so she kept her response to herself.

2. Friday, September 15th, 1995

In the weeks that passed, Amanda found herself looking forward to her first period class more and more. Mr. Harrington made learning about history much more fun than her previous teachers had. Though they had to check out the textbooks in the library provided by the state, Mr. Harrington told them to stack them along the window sill and they sat there everyday, untouched. In class, he told them the real history and explained what actually happened, what the textbooks glossed over or lied about. Instead of reading page after page in their textbooks they got to do fun projects creating poster boards, making dioramas, and even creating their own political cartoons.

Amanda has also been early everyday. She was sitting in her regular seat waiting for class to start, when two boys walked in, talking excitedly about some band she’d never heard of.

“Did you hear about the first Corroded Coffin show last night in Indianapolis? Apparently people were camping outside the venue for 2 nights to try and score tickets! I want to see them on tour so bad!” Mr. Harrington peaked his head up from the paper he was writing on and joined the boys’ conversation.

“You guys like Corroded Coffin? I know those guys, we all went to high school together.” Mr. Harrington said. He looked off to the side, brows furrowed as he thought about something. “Maybe I can ask them to come for career day in October?”

The two boys gasped excitedly and started asking their teachers questions about the band and how he met them. Mary, who sat diagonally across from Amanda, sighed. Amanda watched, Mary, who had her head in her hands, gazing dreamily at Mr. Harrington.

“Isn’t he just so handsome, Amanda?” Mary said, turning to look at her. Amanda wrinkled her nose in response. Sure, Mr. Harrington wasn’t ugly but she couldn’t see what it was about him that made all the girls trip over themselves. No matter if they were in the cafeteria during lunch or in the library for study hall, she was subject to hearing theories of what Mr. Harrington’s wife looked like, and whispers of ‘She’s so lucky’. Amanda didn’t get any of it. Still, she wanted to fit in, so she pretended. He wore the same style glasses that she did, so at least she could compliment him without lying. To herself or her classmates.

“Um, I like his glasses.” She replied. Avoiding Mary’s piercing gaze, she decided pulling her pencil bag out was a smart move.

“I don’t know, Amy,” Lj said, looking up from her book. “I think Miss. Rosario is prettier than Mr. Harrington. She would never come to school with her shirt so wrinkled.” Lj glanced at Mr. Harrington once more before going back to her book. Mary flipped her long, blonde hair over her shoulder, before she raised her hand. Next to her, Amanda’s eyes were glued to Lj. Miss Rosario was pretty. Super pretty. If everyone was talking about that, she’d understand one hundred percent. She forced herself to look away when Mr. Harrington started speaking.

“Yes, Mary?”

“You don’t normally come to school with your shirt so wrinkled. Why today?” She asked. Mr. Harrington looked down at his shirt and inspected the wrinkles and huffed. He was wearing a plain blue and white striped polo, and jeans since it was a friday.

“Thank you…for pointing that out, Mary. For your information, normally my partner irons my shirts every morning while I make breakfast, but they’ll be away for the next month on a work trip, and I was in a rush and forgot to do it.” He walked back around behind his desk and grabbed the hawkins middle hoodie that was hanging on the back of his desk chair and put it on. “There, Now no one can see the wrinkles.” He raised his eyebrows, as if to say ‘is this okay’ and Mary nodded as she giggled

“Why does your wife always iron your shirts? Why don’t you iron your own shirts and she makes breakfast?” Janet asked.

“Well, Janet, if you must know, they like to pick out my clothes, and I’m the only one who can cook so it just works out.” Mr. Harrington replied. A few awws came from the crowd and he waved them away. “Yes, it’s all very sweet and domestic and all that jazz. Now, who can tell me where we left off yesterday.”

3. Tuesday, October 3rd, 1995

“Yo, Mr. H, what’s that thing on your nose?” It was right before class began, and Mr. Harrington had just turned around from writing their new essay prompt on the board. Right in the center of his face was a scratch, from the bridge of his nose to underneath his eye. Amanda was by the door, sharpening her pencil for the lesson.

“Well Good Morning to you too, Gerald. That thing on my nose is a scratch. My partner came home for the weekend and we ended up adopting some kittens last night. Three of them actually, so in the whole mess of transporting 3 kittens back to our home…” He gestured to his face and then shrugged.

“What did you name the kittens?” A voice said from the back.

“Sabbath, Kirk, and Abba.” His lips pursed, as if he was trying to suppress his smile.

“Why those names?” Amanda asked before she could stop herself. She recognized Abba because her older sister was always blasting it through her walkman, but the other two names were unfamiliar. She assumed they probably also had to do with music but she wasn't sure what they were references to.

“Well Sabbath and Kirk are nods to my partners favorite bands. The last cat was named Abba because I occasionally play them and my partner loves to tease me for it. Says I need to be introduced to ‘real music’.” Mr. Harrington had an exasperated look on his face, but you could hear the fondness in his voice as he talked about his partner. He glanced over at his origami pot, which Amanda noted now had a black cat added to it. She spun to walk back to her desk with her newly sharpened pencils when Lj walked into class, beating the bell by a few seconds and immediately caught Amanda’s attention.

“Woah, Amy! You wore your hair down today?” Lj said, and stopped when she saw the redhead by the door. Amanda typically kept her hair in a ponytail and her bangs neatly trimmed just above her eyebrows to keep her curls from falling into her face while she worked. Today though, she had a black and white striped headband settled behind her bangs, the rest of her curly hair falling down to her shoulders. “I really like it like this. You look extra pretty.” Lj offered her a small smile and made her way to her seat. Amanda's hand flew to her hair and her jaw fell open a bit, eyes tracking Lj’s movements as she walked away.

Lj thought she was extra pretty with her hair down. Extra. Like she always thought Amanda was pretty, but with her hair down…she was more, pretty. Additionally pretty. Especially pretty. Her gaze slowly left Lj and landed on Mr. Harrington who was watching her with an expression on his face that she couldn’t quite place. He shook his head in amusement and then pointed to her desk with his chin. It took her feet a few seconds to catch up with her brain and move, but she made it to her seat. As she sat down, Gerald called out to her teacher.

“Wait Mr. H, I’m confused. Why did y’all get 3 kitties in the first place?” Mr. Harrington sighed and ran a hand down his face, wincing when he made contact with the scratch.

“We couldn’t separate the siblings. Or, my partner didn’t want to separate them and…who am I to stop them. So we got three kittens.” His eyes widened like he still couldn’t believe it.

“Will you bring them in so we can meet them?” Kendra asked hopefully. Amanda knew she wanted to be a veterinarian so it made sense that she’d ask. That was the cool thing about going to school with the same kids all her life. She knew so many little things about them and what their aspirations were. Gerald was out of this world smart so he’d decided he would either be a lawyer or a doctor, whichever paid more. Mary wanted to be a famous actress, Janet loved science, and Lj was a writer like no other.

Amanda imagined hanging out with Lj in the future. Lj as a world famous journalist for the New York Times and Amanda working somewhere with numbers. They would both live in New York because Lj would want a friend there and they’ll live in the same apartment to save money and they’ll share a room because what if it’s lonely and she’ll get to wake up to Lj and fall asleep with Lj and grocery shop with Lj and

Amanda sat up straighter in her seat and shook her head as if to shake those thoughts out of her mind. She reminded herself to leave those types of thoughts to when she was alone and tuned back into the ongoing conversation.

“Sorry Kendra, can’t do that. I have a kid in my third and seventh period classes with allergies to fur.”

“What if your wife brings them, and then after this class period, she takes them back home?” Someone else suggested. Mr. Harrington chuckled to himself and dropped his head, letting it hang for a moment.

“That won’t be possible, they’re on a work trip, remember. Maybe I’ll bring a picture in so you all can see.” He offered, looking around to see if that would appease his students.

“But we want to see your wife! You’re always talking about her!” That comment came from Mary. Mr. Harrington laughed again and Amanda wondered what was so funny.

“Ok ok, I see what’s going on here. You’re trying to get me to talk about my personal life so we don’t start those essays today huh? Unluckily for you, I was a student once so I know all your tricks! Come on, let’s get class started.” A few tried to protest, but eventually they grabbed their notebooks and flipped to fresh pages.

As Amanda worked, her hair continued to fall into her face. She resisted the urge to tie it back into its signature ponytail, instead opting to tuck her hair behind her ear constantly. Louise-Jane Brooks thinks Amanda Driscoll is extra pretty with her hair down and Amanda decided it was normal to want another girl to think she’s pretty, so she kept her hair down.

4. Friday, October 13th, 1995

“Mr. Harrington, what was high school like for you?”

That day, the eighth grade class had a field trip to the high school now that their first marking period was nearly over. The class was pretty chatty now that they were back in their classroom waiting for the dismissal bell to ring. They were all standing around Mr. Harrington’s desk, a few sitting on the student desks behind them. They quieted down when they heard the question asked.

“I was pretty popular in high school, was co-captain of the swim team, fought some monsters, skipped prom, then I graduated and met the love of my life.” Mr. Harrington was staring upwards, like he was checking off an imaginary list in his mind. Immediately, a gaggle of questions were shouted out at him. His eyes widened in shock and he put his hands up in surrender. “Woahhh guys, one a time, let me see some hands. McKenzie, what’s your question?”

“I thought you met your wife in middle school?” A few ‘yeah’s came from the group as they recalled what Mr. Harrington told them on the first day of class.

“That is technically right. I did meet them in middle school and we were friends for that science class we shared. Then we drifted apart until after I graduated. We reconnected during the whole fighting monsters thing after high school and ever since then it’s been me and them.”

“What do you mean by fighting monsters?” Another person asked. Mr. Harrington only shrugged. His arms, which were hanging down by his sides, wrapped around his stomach. “Whatever you think it means, Kevin.”

“He’s probably talking about some game or movie,” Someone commented from the back of the group to their friend. Mr. Harrington didn’t acknowledge them, only staring out the window. The kids begin to break off into separate conversation when the bell rings to dismiss for the day.

“Hey Amy,” Lj said, approaching her as the crowd started to disperse and leave Amanda, Lj, and their teacher behind. Mr. Harrington yelled out a ‘See you tomorrow and made good decisions!’ as he sat back behind his desk. The two girls were standing in the aisle between table one and table two, a few feet from the front of Mr. Harrington’s desk. She noticed her teacher start to look for something on his desk.

“I’m surprised you’re still here, normally you're first out the door.” She commented. Amanda smiled at the thought of Lj paying that much attention to her.

“I have Chess Club afterschool today so my mom will get me at four. I don’t have to catch the bus.” Lj hummed in acknowledgement before speaking again.

“So…I just moved to a new house, and I finally finished decorating my room. If it’s okay with your mom, my mom said I could invite people over now.” Lj had a delicate smile on her face as her fingers played with the hem of her t-shirt before being stuffed into the pockets of her jeans.

“Um, yeah of course! I’d love to! How do I tell you if my mom said it’s ok?” Amanda said, smiling so widely she knew her cheeks would ache later.

“Uhhhh,” Lj looked around, before taking a few steps and grabbing a marker out of Mr. Harrington’s pencil cup. Amanda trailed behind her. Lj grabbed Amanda’s arm and wrote down a series of numbers on her forearm. Amanda could see that Mr. Harrington was now fumbling for something within his desk. Lj let her hand fall from Amanda’s forearms to her hand.

“There. That’s my home phone number, just call me when you ask your mom! I hope she says yes. I got this jewelry making kit so we can like, make bracelets and stuff! Bye, Amy! Call me! Even if you can't come over!” Lj squeezed Amanda’s hand before letting go and walking out the classroom.

Amanda was rooted in her spot, the path LJ’s fingers took burned into her skin. Having feelings for Lj had gone from manageable to completely unbearable from that one interaction. How was she supposed to walk around everyday not aching to touch her again? To feel the weight of Lj’s hand in hers and have her small, kind, infectious smile directed at Amanda. Her fingers traced the numbers on her arm as she reimagined her Saturday plans. She was shaken from her daydream when a throat cleared. Her head snapped to the source of the noise, and she met eyes with Mr. Harrington. Realizing he watched that entire interaction, her smile dropped. She knew exactly what he was thinking. It was the same things her parents whispered in the kitchen when they thought she was asleep in the living room.

“That wasn’t what it looked like. I don’t have a crush on Lj.” Mr. Harrington only raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips.

“I…I didn’t say you did.” He replied.

Amanda’s cheeks burned a deep red as she realized he didn’t say that. He didn’t say anything. She assumed she knew what he was thinking and just dug herself into a hole. She looked away embarrassed, feeling the burn of restrained tears behind her eyes. She’d just come to terms herself with what those feelings inside her meant. She wasn’t ready to deal with what it meant to openly like girls. But now she’d have to, Mr. Harrington was going to tell her mom.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” She whispered, looking away when a few tears fell. Mr. Harrington’s eyes widened in shock. He jumped up from his desk, walked around to the front, and kneeled in front of Amanda.

“Hey, hey, hey don't cry. I won’t tell anyone anything you don’t want me to. There’s nothing for me to tell, Amanda. Promise.” He reassured, his hands flailing about in front of him as he spoke. He offered a comforting squeeze on the shoulder before shifting to sit criss-cross in front of his desk, using it to lean on.

Amanda watched Mr. Harrington as he sat on the floor and made himself comfortable. He looked up at Amanda and patted the spot next to him. She sat down with him, legs stretched into the aisle in front of them and her back pressed up against Mr. Harrington’s desk. She took her glasses off and wiped her eyes, and Mr. Harrington pushed his glasses into his hair and began to speak.

“If I may ask, what is it… that I'm not telling?” He asked, voice gentle.

“I don’t think you’d understand.” She said, voice shaky with unshed tears.

“Maybe…maybe not. But you never know unless you tell me. If you want to, of course.” He said as he watched Amanda carefully.

“How do you feel about your wife?” She asked him, finger aimlessly prodding at the linoleum floors.

“My partner is the best gift that I could have ever been given. They’re the most gorgeous person I’ve ever laid my eyes on. The kindest, most compassionate, and genuine person I know. And they’re hilarious, they make me laugh like never before. I used to dread going home, but now that they’re there, I can’t wait to get back to them everyday. Everything leads back to them, and I’m never not thinking about them, or missing them, or loving them. They are the center of my universe and every planet surrounding it.”

The two sat in silence for a moment after. Amanda wondered what it would be like to love a girl so fully. To love a girl so much that her mere presence made the stars shine brighter and air seem crisper. To love a girl, and be free to tell anyone who asked.

“I want,” she started. “I want to be allowed to feel that way about a girl.” Amanda nearly whispered the end of her sentence, the force of hearing her voice admit that out loud for the first time knocked the air out of her.

“You are allowed to feel that way about a girl.” Mr. Harrington said, shifting to face Amanda better. She turned to look at him, red rimmed eyes meeting earnest ones. “My best friend and her wife moved to San Francisco so that they could. They’re much more open minded out there. When I lived in Chicago, you heard about people like us out there way more than you did here in Hawkins.” Amanda’s brows knitted in confusion.

“People like us?” She asked. Mr. Harrington nodded.

“People like us,” He confirmed. Amanda let the weight of both their confessions settle in the air. Other people felt this way. Mr. Harrington did. And so did his best friend and her wife. And the people in San Francisco and in Chicago. She wasn’t the only person who felt. Amanda let her worries be temporarily soothed by the comfort of knowing she wasn’t a freak or a mistake. She wiped her eyes again, put her glasses back on, and pushed herself off the floor. She looked up at the clock which read 3:12. Chess Club started in three minutes.

“I have to go, I don’t want to be late…but thank you, Mr. Harrington.” Amanda said, voice quiet.

“Anytime, Amanda. My door is always open.” And she didn’t doubt that. Not many people in Hawkins knew how she felt, but Mr. Harrington did and that was more than she thought.

5. Monday, October 15th, 1995

When Amanda walked into her homeroom class the following day, the first thing she noticed was the new poster up by the chalkboard. It was a plain beige rectangle with rainbow patterned letters, spelling out “YOU ARE SAFE HERE.” Amanda’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes immediately searched for Mr. Harrington, but he was busy talking to one of her classmates. She walked to her seat, reveling in the warmth that grew in her chest from how nice it was to be cared for like this.

As Amanda placed her arm on her desk, she felt the delicious bite of the gems on her bracelet sink into the skin of her wrist. She lifted her wrist to inspect the new jewelry she made with Lj. There were pink, orange, and red beads patterned on her bracelet, while Lj’s had a pink, blue, and purple pattern. Both bracelets however, had “LJ&AMY”. Her right hand came up and she ran her fingers over the beads, and smiled fondly as she remembered her weekend with Lj. Memories of bracelet making, pizza, karaoke, and sharing a banana split sundae filled her mind. Amanda looked ahead of her and saw that Lj was already staring at her. She smiled at her and waved shyly. Lj giggled and waved back.

“I like your bracelet,” She said, smiling back at Amanda. Amanda stuck her hand wrist out proudly to show off the bracelet Lj helped her make.

“Why thank you, it’s custom made, one of a kind,” She laughed again, but was interrupted by one of her classmates yelling over the chatter in the classroom.

“How was your weekend, Mr. H,” Gerald asked.

“It was pretty good. I went down to Lovers Lake with my partner and they had a picnic set up. It was very sweet. They even made me a flower crown by hand. We also saw some of our friends from back in the day.” He responded.

“Wow, Mr. H, your wife sounds mad sweet.” Gerald responded, his fingers absentmindedly twirling one of his locs.

“Right,” Kendra piped in from the back corner. “Everytime you say something about her it’s always something so gentle. Like she taught you how to make origami, and she irons your clothes, made you adopt all those cats, now a picnic at Lovers’ Lake and a handmade flower crown? She’s like, the sweetest woman in the world.” Kendra said, recalling all the kind things Mr. Harrington’s partner did for him.

“I wish you guys paid this much attention to what I say when i’m teaching, how did you even remember all of that?” Kendra only shrugs and Mr. Harrington sighs. “Anyways, what about you guys, what did you get up to this weekend?” Immediately Lj’s hand went up and Mr. Harrington called on her. She reached her hand out to Amanda, who immediately clasped her fingers around Lj’s.

“Well Amy came over to my house and we did a bunch of fun stuff like go to the mall and get pizza, but we also made these matching bracelets.” Lj then stuck their conjoined hands in the air so their classmates could see the bracelets, even if it was a bit awkward with all that space between the two girls.

Amanda’s grin grew impossibly bigger and she looked at Mr. Harrington who raised his brows in pleasant surprise.

“That’s very nice girls, my partner and my best friend have a matching pair of purple converse that they decorated together actually. Janet, what about you? How was your weekend?” Mr. Harrington went on, letting his students tell him all about their weekend before they started class. Amanda couldn’t pay much attention to what her classmates were saying though, savoring every second Lj kept her in hand in Amanda’s.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of weird how Mr. Harrington never just says ‘my wife’?” Mary whispered to her tablemates. Amanda froze for a moment, considering Mary’s words. Lj squeezed Amanda’s hand before letting go and picking up her pencil to take notes since Mr. Harrington was now starting the lesson. Amanda didn’t follow her lead. Instead, she ran back every time Mr. Harrington brought up his wife.

“Then I lived in Chicago with my spouse for a few years…”

“...normally my partner irons my shirts every morning…”

“Everything leads back to them, and I’m never not thinking about them, or missing them, or loving them.”

Why didn’t Mr. Harrington just say ‘my wife’ instead of ‘my partner’? Why did he always say ‘they’ instead of ‘she’? Amanda’s mind reminded her of their conversation afterschool on friday.

“When I lived in Chicago, you heard about people like us way more than here in Hawkins.”

People like…us.

Her eyes darted to the new poster hanging up in their class. You are safe here. Her eyes drifted to Mr. Harrington as the realization dawned on her. Why Mr. Harrington was so specific about how he referred to his partner. Why he didn’t have a picture of them on his desk like her other teachers do.

Mr. Harrington…doesn’t have a wife. He has a husband.

+1. Tuesday, October 16th, 1995

It was career fair day so after lunch instead of heading to her algebra class, Amanda met up with Lj in front of the gym to browse all the different jobs that came to present that day. She almost tripped over her feet in excitement once she spotted Lj. She quickened her pace, nearly running over one of the 6th graders. The two girls embraced before linking arms as they walked into the gym together.

They stopped by the doctor table and the accounting table, and ran past the construction table giggling. They visited the journalism table so Lj could talk with the woman there. She had a short, curly bob and a name tag that read “Miss Wheeler”. Amanda looked around and spotted Mr. Harrington toward the back of the fair talking with another man with unruly, curly hair. The long haired man smiled at Mr. Harrington and knocked the educators shoulder with his own.

Amanda told Lj she would be right back and headed in their direction. Upon arriving, Mr. Harrington’s friend stepped away from him and approached Amanda. He was wearing a t-shirt that said “The Devil Was Once an Angel” and ripped black jeans. He had many rings on his fingers and various chains hanging off his belt loops. He had multiple tattoos all along his arms and stuck to the front of his chest was a name tag that read “Mr. Munson”.

Looking at his display, she saw a speaker, quietly playing metal music and a black and red electric guitar on a stand next to it. There were pictures of the long haired man on stage with 3 other guys and a notebook open with what looked like song lyrics. Next to the notebook, there were some tickets for a band called ‘Corroded Coffin’. Amanda racked her memory trying to remember why the name sounded familiar.

“Amanda!” Mr. Harrington greeted. He turned and faced Mr. Munson. “Mr. Munson, this is that student I told you about. Amanda, this is Eddie Munson, lead guitarist, lead vocals, and songwriter for his band.” Mr. Harrington looked at Eddie proudly, and placed a hand on each shoulder, in a weird sort of side hug.

“Thank you for that lovely introduction, Mr. Harrington,” Mr. Munson said, grinning widely. He then turned to Amanda. “What kind of music do you listen to, Red?” He had his hands clasped together, his two pointer fingers pressed against his lips.

“Uhh, I guess I listen to a lot of pop music. My older sister introduced me to someone called Madonna? I mainly listen to my sister's old tapes so whatever she has,” Amanda responded.

Mr. Munson gasped, dramatically clutching his hand to his chest where his heart would be.

“Oh you poor thing! You’re a lost little sheep, just like Stevie here. He only listens to whatever’s on the top 40. AKA, Not. Real. Music.” She giggled and Mr. Munson smiled at her in a way where she knew he was only teasing. Amanda could see Mr. Harrington roll his eyes but smile, as Mr. Munson grabbed the speaker that was on his table. He pulled it closer to the front of the table so she could hear the music playing better. Mr. Munson looked around quickly before whispering to Amanda. “You won’t tell anyone if this song says any bad words will you,” His questioning gaze turned into a devilish grin when Amanda smiled and shook her head. “I knew there was a reason you were his favorite” Her feet tapped in excitement as she glanced quickly to her teacher.

Mr. Munson turns the music up slightly and lets the heavy bass and electric guitar fill the air around them.

“That is my band's latest single, ‘Trials’. It’s about some stuff that your teacher and I went through back in high school.” He said.

“You guys knew each other in high school?” Amanda asked, bewildered. How did her polo-wearing, mr. popular, not a hair out of place history teacher become friends with a man so completely different from him?

“Well we knew of each other in high school, we were friends in middle school for a little while. We reconnected around this time of my senior year. 1986, can you believe that was 10 years ago, Stevie?” Where had she heard that before? Where did she know this man from? She can’t recall ever seeing him before, so why do his words sound so familiar? Amanda pushed those questions out of her head, and instead decided to ask him questions about his work since that is what he was there for.

“Do all the inspirations for your songs come from your life? How do you not run out of things to write about?” Amanda asked.

“What a wonderful question, Red. I do get a lot of inspiration from my real life. Take this weekend for example, Me and Mr. Harrington—or Mr.Harrington and I, Miss O’Donnell would kill me if she heard me say that.” Mr. Munson said that last part to Mr. Harrington before he turned back to Amanda. “Like I was saying, Stevie and I went out to the lake and afterwards we got to meet up with some of our old friends. I got some inspiration from that experience to write about reminiscing on good times. The song that just played for you right now, is also about the past but it’s about how the past changes us today. So while I may use the same base for songs,...”

Amanda started to lose focus as Mr. Munson explained his songwriting process. Mr. Harrington also said he was at Lovers’ Lake with his partner and that he met up with old friends this weekend. She understood them hanging out as old friends, they knew each other since middle school apparently. But how could Mr. Munson have been at Lovers’ Lake too?

Amanda looks at Mr. Harrington, opening her mouth to ask a question when she stops herself. Mr. Harrington. That’s who she’s heard this from before. She looked back at the tickets on the table. “Corroded Coffin” She realizes that’s the band he was talking about that one day. She runs her entire conversation with Mr. Munson back in her mind matching it to the things she heard Mr. Harrington say in class.

‘’The last cat was named Abba because I occasionally play them and my partner loves to tease me for it. Says I need to be introduced to ‘real music’”

“You’re a lost little sheep, just like Stevie here. He only listens to whatever’s on the top 40. AKA, Not. Real. Music.”

“We reconnected during the whole fighting monsters thing after high school.”

“We reconnected around this time of my senior year.”

“Stevie and I went out to the lake and afterwards we got to meet up with some of our old friends.”

“I went down to Lovers Lake with my partner…We also saw some of our friends from back in the day.”

Amanda looked away from the table, looking between both Mr. Munson and Mr. Harrington. Mr. Harrington was watching Mr. Munson as he explained something Amanda wasn't paying much attention to with rapt fascination. His eyes were soft and his smile was adoring. His arms were crossed casually across his chest and he leaned slightly toward Mr. Munson, like the musician had a magnetic pull on him.

Like Mr. Munson was the center of his universe.

Amanda gasped loudly, effectively cutting off Mr. Munson’s spiel and drawing attention from a few of the neighboring tables. They all turned away when Amanda’s face broke into a wide grin, assuming her gasp was from excitement. Both Mr. Harrington and Mr. Munson were staring at Amanda with confusion on their faces.

“Are you…okay, Red?” Mr. Munson asked as he stepped backwards to inspect Amanda, consequently getting into Mr. Harrington’s personal space. Her history teacher didn’t budge when there were only a mere few inches separating them. She peeked around them, searching for Lj and finding her talking to Gerald in front of the lawyers table. She turned back to the two men in front of her and kept her voice low when she spoke.

“Mr. Harrington doesn’t have a wife,” She paused for dramatic effect, something she learned from Mary, and let the two men share a glance before looking back to her. “He has a husband.” She clapped her hands, excited by her discovery. It all made sense now. Realization washed over both Mr. Harrington and Mr. Munson. They looked at each other, Mr. Munson pursing his lips to suppress a smile and Mr. Harrington with both hands on his hips and an exasperated look on his face.

“How did you piece that together from my presentation?” Mr. Munson asked, head tilted in amusement.

“It wasn’t your presentation, it was the stuff you said before you started talking about the music. Mr. Harrington talks about you all the time in class. The stuff you said right now matched up to what Mr. Harrington said before and all the signs, the poster, ‘People like us...It just clicked right now. What all that meant.” Amanda said, hands waving wildly in front of her. They froze mid-air when another realization washed over her. Her eyebrows knit up in confusion as she looked Mr. Munson over once more.

“You…with the tattoos, and the rings, and the chains, and the all black clothes…adopted three kittens? And you iron Mr. Harrington’s clothes every morning? And planned a picnic out on Lovers’ Lake? You taught Mr. Munson to make little origamis? Made him a flower crown? That was you? But you look so…” Amanda paused looking for the words. Mr. Munson glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Harrington with the widest grin she’d ever seen. “You look so, not the type.”

“I told you all those years ago, Stevie. Forced conformity. It’s killing the kids.” He turned back to Amanda. “It’s 1995 Little Red, people are so much more than their stereotypes.”

Amanda stared at Mr. Munson, soaking in all the new information, when another question popped in her mind.

“Wait. If you’re both boys, how did you get married?” She kept her voice low, so the other tables wouldn’t over hear her. Mr. Munson crouched down to Amanda’s level.

“Well, to the government, marriage is a piece of paper saying ‘This is who I chose!’. And tax benefits. We didn't need a piece of paper and a big fancy party, though we did have one, to say that we chose each other for life. I love him. And the government doesn’t get to tell me if that’s okay or not, it is okay.” Mr. Munson then looked up at Mr. Harrington from his spot on the floor. They shared a look, one that said a million more words than they’d be allowed in such a public place.

Amanda looked away from them, the connection between the two becoming almost suffocating. It was so surreal to be standing in front of two people who understood what she was going through. They went through it already and came out the other end. They were living breathing proof that it’s not always this hard, and it’s not always this confusing. That one day you’ll be able to wake up every morning next to the love of your life, no matter their gender. You’ll get to visit your favorite spots from your childhood as you grow old together. That we get a fancy wedding and the promise to be together forever too. They were proof that our fate isn’t subject to becoming a forgotten name in the newspaper for a case the police won’t try to solve. People like us, get to have our happily ever after, and Amanda was looking right at one. She couldn’t quite put into words what that meant to her.

On top of that, Mr. Munson wasn’t anything like she’d expected. Besides the fact that she was expecting a woman up until yesterday, he wasn’t anything like she expected for someone who presented themself like he did. He was kind and gentle while being loud and dramatic. He picked flowers for his husband with the same hands he used to shred electric guitar. He was unapologetically himself, even if that confused some people. Amanda looked forward to the day she could say the same about herself.

Mr. Harrington offered Mr. Munson a hand, and helped him off the floor when Lj approached the table.

“There you are Amy, I was wondering where you went,” Lj immediately reached for Amanda’s hand and interlocked their fingers, like she couldn't go another second without touching Amanda. Mr. Munson offered a small, knowing smile. “Are you done here? I heard the veterinary table is giving out cookies shaped like dinosaurs!”

Amanda looked away from Lj and back up at Mr. Munson and Mr. Harrington.

“After the promotion ceremony, and we’re officially high schoolers…am I still allowed to come back and say hi?” Amanda asked. Sure, it was only October but Mr. Harrington had already changed her life in such an irrevocable way. When she gets her first girlfriend or when she moves away to find people who are like her, it’ll be because Mr. Harrington was the first person who told her that it was okay and that she wasn’t alone.

“Of course, Amanda. Come back anytime! I’d love to hear about how high school goes for you. Even beyond that!” Mr. Harrington said. They shared a smile, and she let Lj pull her away.

“So you talk about me in class all the time, huh?” Mr. Munson teased as Amanda walked away.

“Go back on tour,” was her teacher's reply.

—

I don't know if i really have the words to explain what this fic means to me and how cathartic it was to write. Thank you for reading <3

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington fic #eddie munson fic #steddie fic #steve/eddie #steve x eddie #steddie stranger things #st #plu #100 #1k #oc #ducky writes

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meatonfork · 1 year

Note

🤠 howdy

If I could request in the holiday spirit,could we see grim giving gifts to the task force boys?grim solos

HAPPY HOLIDAYS

Christmas Spirit

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pairing: platonic 141 x grim

warnings: none!

summary: grim shows the boys some holiday spirit!

note: i am still recovering from yesterday, so if my writing reflects that i apologize. also, i don’t like christmas, so i’m trying to make this good 😭

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christmas was approaching fast. the task force was given a week off in order to celebrate and have some down time before the next mission.

one thing you’d noticed, is that no one really seemed to be in high spirits. and that just didn’t sit right with you. since having no one to celebrate christmas with after your family’s passing, you jumped at the opportunity to celebrate with your boys.

the whole week leading up to one of your favorite holidays was spent decorating, baking, and making gifts.

the boys had thoroughly enjoyed your baking. even going as far as to ask for more, which you happily obliged to.

a consistent smell of cinnamon and pine roamed each hallway. really setting the mood for the season.

lights covered the halls, and garland hung at each doorway. a tree was thrown up in the corner of the commons as well.

soap was the most excited when he saw the decorations lining the walls. he said something along the lines, “aye! look at all this! grim, you did this?”

to which you simply smiled and nodded before hurrying back to your quarters to finish their presents.

the day of christmas, you’d made a big breakfast for everyone. being up around 0430 to finish it before ghost got up at 0600.

the food was devoured. soap eating loudly as usual, and price scolding him for being gross.

gaz had left you a seat to his left so you could eat with them.

“grim, this is really good. thanks, kid!” he pat you on the shoulder, tossing a smile in your direction.

“i, uh, i actually have another surprise for you guys once you’re done eating.” a sheepish smile spread across your sleep puffy face.

they each turned to look at you before shoveling the rest of their food in their mouths.

they followed you to the commons, where presents lay under the tree. four of them, to be exact.

“you bought us something? why’d you do that?” price borderline scolded you.

“i didn’t! i made them.” another sheepish smile stretching on your face.

“you didn’t have to, you know?” ghost spoke up behind you.

“well, duh. i just wanted to do something nice for you lot. it was so boring and plain in here anyways.” you shrugged them off.

you told them to sit, which they did quickly, and made your way to pass out the presents.

“can you guys open them all at once? i want this to go quickly.” nerves had started to creep up your spine.

what if they didn’t like them?

or what if they thought it was dumb?

“yeah, sure kid.”

they tore into the wrapping paper.

ghost held up a balaclava that made of a thick material with a thin woolen lining for the cold season. a rough stitch was holding it together, showing the hard work you’d put into it.

price grabbed onto a small wooden box that had four slots to hold his cigars that you hated so much. it was stained a dark color, and he realized you’d gone to storage to find wood that wasn’t being used.

soap held up a small notebook. it was rough around the edges, but the binding was solid. the paper was thick enough to pain on it without it bleeding through. he wondered how long this took to make.

and gaz threw on a crocheted beanie you’d made just a few days ago. it was black, and fuzzy on the inside. the yarn was thick and warm, for when you were out on a mission or having another snowball fight in the field behind base.

“you made this? all of this?” soap’s finger made a circle, pointing to everything in their hands. his mouth held open in shock.

“yeah! i wanted it to be something you’d need, but not cheap and from a store where you can get like five of them.” you’d shrugged.

“i really like this! it’s fuzzy, and my ears are warm. thanks grim!” gaz threw an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to his side.

“yeah, it’s definitely not cheap. why’d you make this, though? you hate my bloody cigars. think i’ll die sooner, or something.” price rose an eyebrow at you.

“well, if i can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. or whatever.” you smiled.

ghost sighed, “kid, these are cool and all, but we didn’t get you anything.”

“i don’t care! i don’t want anything.”

“are you sure? feel like an ass now.”

“actually, there is one thing i really need. and only you lot can get it.”

“what?”

“CHRISTMAS MOVIE MARATHON!”

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a/n: i’m sorry this sucks 😭 i’ll try to get something better out soon!

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anjaelle · 1 year

Text

The Next Great American Epic

Pairings: Professor!Oscar Isaac x Black Female!Reader

Warnings: Oral (f!receiving), Age Gap (Reader is in mid-late 20s), Student x Teacher Relationship, Unprotected Sex (strap up, people), implied infidelity

Summary: Professor Hernandez Estrada is a proven smartass and literary genius. As much as you can't stand the way he tears your work to shreds, you can't help but respect him and hold his opinion of you in high regard.

Word Count: 4.2K

a/n: Based on this post and the intense love I have for gray, studious looking Oscar. I started this in July 2022, and I'm just now finishing it. I'm semi ashamed but also not. Don't judge me.

(gif source)

Oscar treated every lecture like a performance, to some degree. You could feel the passion behind his words and knew he spent countless sleepless nights dissecting the language of the great intellectuals before him.

He was a nerd, thus, incredibly attractive in that "dad's best friend who's a museum curator and laughs at his own history jokes" kind of way. His written work was brilliant. You wanted to impress him. Not just because he was cute--though that was a bonus--but because he pissed you off with how incredibly critical he was of you. You were convinced he did it just to fuck with you, specifically, for shits and giggles. Every so often, you'd zone out imagining him cackling madly at your work, using his Red Pen of Death to hurt your pride. Sometimes you'd imagine a deeply passionate argument between you two, ending with you throwing things. Sometimes it ended with you splayed out on his desk. Again.

When that happened, you'd mentally return to the lecture and find him looking at you, curiously. If you didn't know any better, you'd swear that he could read your thoughts.

He paced the front of the room in a heavy black sweater with the sleeves rolled up, occasionally pushing his thick rimmed glasses up his nose as he spoke. The brief pauses he took to sip water or ask a question were punctuated by the click-clack of keyboards throughout the room. Or, in your case, the shuffling of papers. Writing with pen to paper helped your scattered brain remember things better, though you couldn't help but feel largely out of touch for the archaic method of note-taking.

"Who decides what literary work is inherently American?" He asked to the class, "Where's the line? When the artist of color is placed into a box as an 'other' or designated as American with an asterisk, are publications and critics implying that the author is not truly American?

"After all," he said, removing his glasses to wipe them, "the cultural zeitgeist is shaped by an amalgamation of many experiences. Is the story of an immigrant from Colombia 100 years ago any less American than the tale of a farmer from Oklahoma during the Great Depression? When we ask for tried and true stories of American Grit, whose stories are we reading?"

Sure, he said that experiences mattered. But, god, was he anal about the details. The newest revision of your work peeked from behind your notebook, scarred in red ink. When you received it back earlier that afternoon, you resisted the burning desire to throw it back at him and tell him to eat a dick. The first couple of times he shot your writing down, you could understand perfectly what he was looking for. This time, you were sure that you were following his advice down to the letter, and it still wasn't good enough for him.

He absentmindedly pushed his salt and pepper curls from his forehead and you wanted to flip a table.

Oscar paused his pacing in front of your desk as you scribbled your thoughts down. You chanced a glance at him to find him already looking over your notes.

"Huh," he had the audacity to smile at you and mutter softly, "Nice handwriting."

Your cheeks warmed at the praise of your neatly looping cursive. The eyes of your peers burned into your back.

He gently tapped your desk with his calloused knuckle and continued on with his lecture, as if his little comment was just a natural part of his daily performance. It was the first time in a while that you'd interacted with him in a way that didn't involve him explaining why your marked up thesis was shit. You could appreciate the compliment, even if it had nothing to do with the quality of the work you put blood, sweat, and tears into.

And now you were annoyed again.

You knew that Oscar wasn't surprised to find you standing outside of his office. A polite smile graced his lips, though something else flickered across his features that you vaguely recognized. You plastered your own polite smile on your face and waved your thick stack of paper at him.

"Explain, Oscar."

Without another word, he tiredly unlocked his office door and motioned for you to enter the roomy space. Numerous large bookcases lined the wall parallel to his desk, and stacks of newspapers and literary journals decorated the ottoman rug that spanned the width of his office. A small fridge and espresso machine sat on a desk in the corner. Above it was a fading portrait of a young looking South Asian man with neatly combed hair and a trimmed mustache, wearing a smart looking suit. The first time you saw it, you surmised by the aged clothing and studious expression that it was a portrait of the university’s very first professor of color, Benjamin Kapoor.

The office was nearly the size of your studio apartment. Perfect for the department head, you thought. The minute he shut the door behind him, he sighed and ran his hand down his face.

"Well, first of all, 'Hey Oscar, how are you?' I'm great. Thanks for asking," He sarcastically quipped. “Would you like some coffee? Maybe some tea, if you’re cutting back on your habit, again?”

"Small talk is redundant," you handed him your papers, "you know why I'm here."

He plopped down in the plush chair behind his desk, and you followed suit on the couch beside it. His chair creaked as he leaned back and thumbed through the pages, reading his own notes. You couldn't quite get a read on his perception, but he hummed in thought. After a couple of minutes he handed your work back to you and shrugged.

"In simple terms: it's mechanical. You’re holding back on putting emotion into your characters. Your protagonist's factory worker father and merchant marine brother don’t feel real. It's too matter-of-fact. Too cold."

You shook your head in frustration, "I don't understand. First, you tell me that my language is too flowery. Now you're saying it's too mechanical. Which is it? Pick a criticism, because now it just feels like you're pulling it out of your ass."

The words slipped out before you could catch them, and your eyes widened in surprise at the venom laced in your tone. But, to your surprise, Oscar just laughed.

"Look, find a middle ground. I don't know how else to state it any plainer than I already have."

You wondered if you'd get expelled for throwing his briefcase out the window.

"I'm glad you think your bias is funny."

His expression changed at the implication, and he stared at you in confusion.

"Bias? Jesus, is that what you think?"

The words you'd been holding in for the majority of the semester came spilling out of you.

"I feel like you don't really respect me as a writer," you crossed your arms, "You think I'm stupid. Or incompetent. But this right here," you motioned to the paper in your lap, "This is just ridiculous. It's nitpicking and tearing my work to shreds. Do you get something out of this? This story means a lot to me. It's the story of my family. Do you understand the level of research and reading it took to bring this work into fruition? With all due respect, it's fucking hard, Oscar. I'm doing the best I can."

He merely stared at you with furrowed brows, "With as long as my tenure has been—for as long as you’ve known me, you think I don't know this?" He stood up from his chair and sat on the edge of his desk in front of you, "You think this problem is unique to you? I aim to challenge all of my students."

You laughed humorlessly, "I've seen the notes you write on other people's stories. It's nowhere near the same level of harsh."

"To you, it may not be."

"I still don't understand what you want from me. More details. Less details. More emotion. Less emotion. Descriptors, but not too descriptive. Make your characters realistic, but oh no, not too mundane. It's all bullshit--"

"It's missing the essence of you." He confessed, scratching his bearded chin, "Your story reads like something anyone could write. The only personal touches in your story--and if you notice, the only things I haven't edited much--are your letters and journal entries. They give a clear idea of how your characters interact with one another. And I think you add a little bit of yourself to them, outside of the narrative.

"Your voice is prevalent in everything you write. Unique and intuitive. Your work isn’t you, Bee. I miss...that."

There was a pregnant pause. Your stomach swooped at the slip of your old nickname, and you crossed your legs to stop the nervous fidgeting. He swallowed hard, and toyed with the watch on his wrist.

"I think..." you began, meeting his eyes for the first time, "I think I'm subconsciously trying to sound like you. Even though you piss me off."

He barked out a laugh, "I don't know if that's a compliment or a testament to how I can improve."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. He soldiered on.

"You're a brilliant writer. I just know you can do better," he drummed his fingers on his desk. Suddenly he grinned at you, "You've read my writing? You like my writing? And you're admitting it freely? And here I was thinking you hated me." Now it was your turn to furrow your brows in confusion. Catching your expression, he explained, "Every time I look at you, you either look bored, lost in your own thoughts, or like you want to murder me. And then there's the arguing--"

"I don't hate you, Oscar. You just exhaust me." You said, standing up to meet him at eye level. "You'd argue with you, too. You can't always be the only sarcastic asshole in the room."

He looked at you with a mix of amusement and what you could only describe as relief. He leaned forward, letting out a deep breath he seemed to be holding the entire time. You were close enough to smell his favorite dark roast coffee and his signature cologne--something bold, but warm and comfy. Kind of like him.

"Did you have any other questions? About the thesis or...something? You know you can ask me anything." he crossed his arms over his chest. Was he flexing? The thought tickled you.

"Just one. But not about the thesis." You asked, gently, taking a step towards him, "You said every time you look at me, I look pensive. How often do you look at me?"

He eyed you slowly. Fire danced behind his gaze, despite his calm demeanor. It reminded you of the look on his face when he read a moving sonnet or recited romantic prose. The sight of him looking at you like his favorite work of art made your belly warm. After a beat of silence that dragged on for ages, he licked his lips and shook his head, finally tearing his eyes away from you. He murmured, "More often than I should." Then he sighed, "We shouldn't be having this conversation. I'm not--it's..."

"No you're right," you began, feeling the rush of bravery trickling from your quickly beating heart, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You could never do that. It's just not professional--"

"It's SUPER unprofessional actually--"

"--you could lose your grant and--"

"--you JUST finalized the divorce--"

"--implicit bias and difficulty being objective--"

"--it's just a passing thought."

He pushed away from the desk, taking a step closer to you, and grabbed a fistful of his hair.

"Maybe..." he cleared his throat, "you might want to...go."

You nodded, "I should leave."

"I could walk you out."

Neither of you made another move and his fingers tapped on his thigh. You watched his eyes travel from your face and down your body, as if he could see right through your clothes.

"Are you?"

He was so close that you could count every single strand of hair in his thick, coarse beard.

"Am I...?" He questioned, eyes dropping to your lips.

"Going to walk me out?" You finished. You could see him weighing his options. He glanced at the door, then back at you.

“I…it’s—” He sighed again, “I miss you, Bee.”

You wanted to get mad and tell him that he wasn’t allowed to do this. You felt stupid for being so easily baited by a smile and sharp wit. Instead of being smart and telling him to fuck off, you shook your head.

“You miss feeling wanted,” you corrected, “You don’t miss me.”

“You don’t know how wrong that is. Do you know how many times I’ve gone out with other women and found myself thinking ‘I wonder what Bee’s doing right now. Is she with someone else? Am I making a mistake?’” He removed a carton of cigarettes from his pocket and tossed it on the desk, “I thought I was making a good choice. Clearly, that wasn’t the case.”

“A good choice for who, exactly?” You asked, eyeing him with skepticism.

“For both of us. For you.”

You could admit that hooking up with him while he was in the process of a divorce was messy. For the brief 3 months you were together over the summer, you couldn’t stop being doubtful. It blurred the lines of whether he was fucking his sadness away or if he truly had feelings for you. You felt your fingers twitch as if they wanted to reach out and grab him. Instead, you shoved your traitorous hand into your back pocket. You were petty enough to not be the first one to make a move.

“The thing is, Oscar, I’m a grown woman and I don’t need you to make decisions for me.” You countered, “I might be younger, sure, but I’m not a kid.”

“I know.” He agreed, quietly.

“You said you wanted time to process things—”

“33 Weeks,” he said, suddenly, “An arduous, sunless, painful 33 weeks without you. I never fully understood the pain of missing you until I was forced to see you and not touch you. Every time you speak or look at me or challenge me, I feel even more stupid for letting you go.”

You couldn’t help yourself, “You are stupid.”

You cracked a smile at him and he smiled back, eyes crinkling at the corners behind his frames. He reached out and caressed your face, tracing a calloused thumb along your cheek and resting his forehead against yours.

“Goddamn you’re beautiful,” he groaned, slowly closing his eyes. You could trace every wrinkle, freckle, and scar with a finger from memory, if you wanted to. The spearmint gum he favored between smoke breaks tickled your nose, and his hand slipped down to the point where your throat met your clavicle.

You were keenly aware that your pulse was thrumming rapidly under his pen-calloused fingers, and that your chest rose and fell in quick succession. You closed the space between you, pulling him in for a deep kiss. The traitorous hand that freed itself from the confines of your pocket curled into his sweater. Oscar's arm snaked around your waist and the hand near your throat tightened, pulling a low, strained moan out of you. He mockingly mimicked your moan and pulled away to kiss along your jaw.

"You need to be a little quiet, Bee," he nipped at your skin and you smiled, "you don't want the others to hear, do you?"

You opened your eyes to meet his gaze, and you knew he could see the devilish glint dancing in them.

"I mean, I can try."

When you stretched out over his tidy mahogany desk and he pushed your legs apart, hiking your skirt over your ass, you couldn't help the self-satisfied grin that pulled at your lips. You wanted this for so long. You craved it. None of the toys in your nightstand could compare to the feeling of his strong hands on your thighs and the feel of his tongue teasing you open.

"Oh my god...look at you," he sighed, burying his face deep between your legs. You giggled, running your fingers through his curls to grab a handful and pulling a soft groan from his lips. Your hips twitched when he pressed a firm thumb against the front of your panties. The way his breath hitched left a deeper feeling of longing that seemed alien to you. And as he peeled the fabric to the side and spread you open to him, his free hand gripped your thigh greedily and hiked your leg up with your knee to your chest.

You felt your heart thrumming in your ears with anticipation and the major thrill of someone potentially walking in on you with his head between your legs. He wrapped his lips around you, swirling his tongue in small quick circles in that same way you loved and could never quite get used to. Your mouth fell open as the haze of ecstacy started to cloud any thoughts that weren't about him.

"I needed you." You whispered, gently scratching his scalp, "I needed you so bad."

He hummed, moaning against you and tickling your inner thighs with the soft hair of his beard. You peered down at him to watch him devour you like a starving man's first meal. He'd taken his glasses off, and you could see the way his lashes fluttered in complete bliss as he dipped his tongue into you. He looked up at you and locked eyes just as a shrill moan threatened to burst from your lips. You quickly covered your mouth and you felt him smile at you. He pulled away, replacing his mouth with his thick fingers. With each flick of the hand he watched you arch your back off his desk and scramble to grab onto something...anything to ground you.

He sharply pulled you closer to the edge of the desk and hoisted your other knee up to your chest, leaving you completely exposed to him and anyone that could walk in the room. He teased you with the tip of his tongue, watching you squirm impatiently before he curled his tongue against your clit.

He'd been dreaming of seeing you like this. But even his dreams couldn't live up to the reality of how sweet you tasted and the look of nirvana on your face. He He could hear the sharp intake of breath and the small whimpers you earnestly tried to swallow down. He wanted to tell you to be as loud as you wanted. Fuck the rules and anyone who heard. But that'd be stupid.

And you didn't deserve stupid.

He found that perfect sensitive spot that made you smack the desk with your hand and try to wriggle away from his mouth, but he pulled you closer.

"Mm-mm, no running." He mumbled nipping your thigh. He returned his lips to you, sucking you slowly between his lips. Your chest heaved, and you scrambled to figure out what to do with your hands. When you reached down to press his face harder between your thighs, he let himself release a low, muffled groan. He needed you so fucking badly. He wanted to stretch this out for as long as he could, but he knew that was impossible.

He wanted to make the most out of the limited time he had with you.

He pulled his mouth away and dipped his fingers into you, coaxing you closer to the edge. And when he leaned forward to kiss you, you pulled him in hungrily, wrapping your thighs around his hips and undoing his belt with quick fingers. He pulled away to look you over once again: your hair was a mess, your lips were swollen, your eyes were glazed, and you looked fucking beautiful. You reached up to stroke his cheek.

"What?" You asked, scrunching your nose at him.

"Are you sure?"

"About?"

His hand remained splayed on your lower stomach and your fingers were hooked in the waistband of his boxers. You sat up and he leaned forward to press his forehead against yours.

Oscar murmured, "Bee, if we do this, I'm not going back to keeping my distance. I'm going to fuck you in every corner of this office. I'm going to want you again," He kissed you, "and again," another kiss, "and again."

You absentmindedly brushed your fingers against his lower stomach and traced the outline of his dick through his boxers. "And on the weekends?"

You dipped your hand behind his waistband, and pulled it down to wrap your hand around him. He hissed sharply, shutting his eyes.

"Shit, honey..." he groaned. "I'm all yours."

You slowly stroked him, watching him melt under your touch. For a moment you could see the younger version of him, just as handsome but not nearly as refined as he liked to present himself in public. His salt and pepper curls were no longer neatly styled and you saw the hint of flush peeking out from under his olive skin. His perfect mouth fell open as you traced the swollen head of him with your thumb.

When you finally took a breath and felt him guide himself into you, that familiar flutter in your lower stomach made you bite your lower lip. A deep shudder wracked both of your bodies like your first hit of a long abandoned drug. He kept the pace slow and steady, focusing on the way you felt around him and trying to keep it to memory like he'd never experience it again.

You pulled him down for another deep kiss, wanting a connection with him in every way possible. You noticed the brief way his strokes faltered, and the way he grabbed your thighs to pull them around his hips to push deeper into you and at just the right angle to make you cry out.

"Right there," you pleaded, arching your hips up to angle him deeper, "God, rightthere rightthere rightthere."

He grunted, dropping his head onto your shoulder as he picked up the rhythm of his hips. "You're perfect for me. You're fucking perfect, angel. I'm never letting you go again."

You tried to form coherent thoughts and words, but everything turned to a sludge of gibberish on your tongue.

You hated the way that he seemed to know you like a familiar map. It was so easy to drown in him. When you reached down to touch yourself, he grabbed your hand and pinned it to the desk, interlacing your fingers. He dipped his free hand between you, choosing to tease your clit with his thumb while he picked up the pace of his strokes.

"Did you miss this, Bee?" He murmured under his breath.

You nodded, allowing your eyes to drift closed.

"No, baby, look at me." He commanded.

You did as you were told, looking deep into his gorgeous dark eyes that seemed to read you from the inside out.

"Did you miss me?"

"I missed this so much." you moaned, feeling the warmth building in your lower tummy.

He thrust into you sharply and a shrill cry rang out that you were sure echoed into the hallway. You nearly slammed your head into the desk with the force that your body jolted. The sensitivity was almost overwhelming and when you tried to scoot away again, he gave you another smack on the thigh.

"What did I say about running?" He let go of your hand to pull your thighs tighter around him as he drove into you with renewed vigor. His jaw clenched as he focused on your building pleasure. Thumb returned to your clit. Your mouth dropped open, but nothing came out but a strangled gasp. His thumb sped up between your thighs and you let out a string of slurred words as your hips shook.

"Fuck, I love you so much, oh God, oh God. I fucking love you."

"This is yours, now. It's all yours. Nobody else's." He breathlessly whispered against your cheek.

You reached down to grab his hand almost begging him for reprieve that you knew he wouldn't give you. You tightened around him and he sucked air sharply between his teeth, which only gave him more determination to push you over the edge. You pulled him down into a kiss just as the wave of pleasure crashed over you and you drowned your cry into his mouth. His strokes grew sloppy and erratic as you rolled your hips against him with equal force.

"Come on baby," you cooed to him, curling your fingers into his hair and giving it a sharp tug. He buried his head into your shoulder and let out a low, deep grunt as he came. You felt him press small kisses along your neck, trailing them up your chin and to your lips. After taking a minute to get his bearings, he reluctantly pulled out with a low shuddering breath. He kissed you again, and you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders enjoying the feeling of his hands on you.

After some brief, very gentle aftercare, you helped each other get redressed, sharing kisses and touches along the way.

"So..." he leaned up against his desk, cleaning off his glasses to put them back on, "am I seeing you tomorrow?"

You gave him a slow, deep kiss and his hands traveled to your ass, "If I'm up all night revising with your stupid edits, we'll see how I feel. No guarantees, though."

#oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac smut #oscar issac fic #oscar isaac #jaelle writes

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supersonicart · 1 year

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Supersonic Art’s: "Gifts Artists will Actually Love!" (Holidays '22 Gift Guide!)

Here’s a little list of gifts artists will actually love.

The list isn’t comprehensive by any means - in fact it’s quite brief considering how long it could be - but these are a few personal favorites which I think are important and was led to by talking to other artists, learning what their favorite art supplies and tools are, and many years of trial and error on my own.

So take a look below and hopefully find something for that hard to shop for artist or artists in your life (Or something for yourself):

(Some of these links below are monetized and I receive a small percentage of the sale if you decide to purchase something.)

Sketchbooks & Journals:

Maruman MNEMOSYNE Notebook - My personal favorite journaling notebook. This larged-sized notebook has incredibly smooth paper and is just an extremely nice notebook to record anything. It’s the best one I’ve come across and I journal in mine daily.

Moleskine Large Size Sketchbook - An unequaled sketchbook that has been hard to come by for the last few years. Smooth paper that is thick enough and sturdy enough for a wide variety of media, but the truly special distinction of Moleskine’s sketchbooks are how wonderfully the paper accepts graphite. The sturdy construction means you’re able to draw anywhere.

(Pro-tip: If you paint in your sketchbooks, use heavy duty binder clips to close the sketchbook. It will keep the pages pretty flat! But be careful not to smudge undried acrylic or oil paints.)

Pencils

Mitsubishi Hi-Uni Pencil Set - The Bugattis of pencils. These are better than any others. I use them personally and have never come across a better set of pencils.

Mechanical Pencils

Staedtler 925 95 - At nearly $300, the Staedtler 925 95 is the Holy Grail of mechanical pencils. It is the best mechanical pencil ever made and was discontinued because it was too well made (Seriously). You can only find them on eBay these days, but if you have the money and want something truly special, these are worth it.

(Please note - This mechanical pencil is so sought after that there are often imitations being sold. Currently there is only one available on eBay. They show up from time to time. Also please note that this is the “925 95.” There are also 35s and 25s; which are somewhat good.)

Platinum Pro-Use 171 Matte Black - An acceptable (and affordable) replacement for the Staedtler 925 95. Extremely well made and a well-weighted mechanical pencil. It also has a tip protector - which the 925 95 lacks.

Paper

Fabriano Artistico Extra White Watercolor Paper 22” x 30” 140 lb or 300 lb Hot Press - Professional paper for a multitude of mediums. By far the best paper I’ve ever come across.

(“What are you talking about? Arches paper is the best!” – Look, Arches paper is great and I’ve used it plenty of times before, but the moment I started using Fabriano - I never looked back. It is the far superior paper in my opinion.)

Canvas & Stretcher Bars

Artel - I suggest cotton canvas from Artel - An affordable company based out of Belgium that makes truly excellent canvases. Their metal stretcher bars are by far the best stretcher bars I’ve ever had the pleasure of using.

Wood Panels

If you use them or know an artist who needs some, wood panels should be custom built and there’s no one better out there at making them than Craig Hejka at Hejka Studios based in Detroit, Michigan. Craig’s craftsmanship and knowledge is unmatched and exceptional. Seriously: The. Best. You’ll need to contact him directly about having them made, but he has a nice contact form on his website.

Acrylic Paints

Golden Heavy Body Artist Acrylic Paints - These are the best acrylic paints out there. I’m not sure why you would use any other brand other than price. They offer acrylic sets and up to multiple gallons of specific colors. Have fun!

Oil Paints

Well, this one is a hard one. There is such a wide range in discrepancies of color and quality between brands and within brands that it’s hard to narrow it down to just a few items or a set of oil paints.

That being said, every artist who uses oil paints probably needs more white paint for mixing colors. Here are a few of my favorite titanium whites:

Holbein Titanium White - If you’re unable to locate a lead based white from the olden days, this is a pretty good match. (Don’t actually seek out a lead based paint please - They were really amazing, though and this is just sorta an artist joke). This is a fantastic titanium white.

Grumbacher Titanium White - A more than suitable white for oil painting. Probably the best? I don’t know. I use this one and Holbein’s.

Winsor & Newton Titanium White - Another, more than suitable, titanium white.

Please note if buying for someone else: ARTISTS ARE INCREDIBLY PICKY ABOUT THEIR PAINTS. Please ask your artist what brand they prefer before buying them any paint.

Paint Brushes

Qualita Golden Taklon Brushes - You won't believe it, but these brushes by Qualita are spectacular! Not only that, but they won't bust the bank.

Painting Accessories

Silicoil Brush Cleaning Tank - Every artist needs a few!

Richeson Nesting Porcelain Palette Sets - Great for paint mediums .

Stainless Steel Brush Stand - I use this for holding brushes (Wash your brushes by hand).

Easels

Note: I am lucky enough to have built my own easel to my own specifications. These easels have not been tested by me.

The Santa Fe II - This looks to be a fantastic professional easel.

Richeson Italian Field Easel - I hear this is a truly excellent field easel.

Blick Heavy Duty H-Frame Easel - This looks like an excellent beginner’s easel with everything you might need; plus it seems professional and that is great motivation to work more.

Books

The War of Art - A phenomenal book that can help you understand why art is so difficult and why it must be, at all costs, pursued.

David & Goliath - Sometimes what we think are obstacles are actually extremely valuable tools for overcoming adversity. A fascinating read.

I Will Teach You To Be Rich - Being an artist is incredibly expensive. Learn about finances and set things up so that you can continue making art for a very long time.

Barbarian Days - Sometimes you just gotta go surfing.

Ephemera

Retractable Utility Knife - I have at least 5 of these and still don’t have enough. I prefer Milwaukees, but as of writing this Amazon is out of stock.

Wooden Drawer Storage Box - Invaluable and stackable!

Dewalt Cordless Circular Saw - If I didn’t have a circular saw, there would be endless times I wished I had one. A truly excellent gift for any artist - seriously.

Empire Framing Square - A remarkably valuable studio tool. Will be used countless times and will last forever.

Did I miss something or get something completely wrong? Let me know! [email protected]!

#art #painting #drawing #illustration #artists #artists on tumblr #artwork #diy #how to #art instruction #art supplies #fine art #gift guide #gifts

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dee-writes-smut · 1 year

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THE BET

FEATURING Steve Harrington x fem!chubby!reader

CONTENT WARNING Steve falling in love with a literal stranger, reader is a bookworm, fluff, love-sick idiot, Robin (because she is a warning)

SUMMARY Who knew strangers could be so unforgettable

AUTHORS NOTE As promised, here is another fic! I thought this idea was really cute, so I just had to write it. Also, I based the reader off of how I see myself, so if any of you were wondering what I look like, this is pretty accurate in my opinion. Let me know if you would like to see a part two of their date!

Taglist @livsters

You were a stranger. An absolute nobody. Someone Steve had never seen before in his life, and yet when he ran into you haphazardly while rushing towards his car parked near the arcade from family video, he couldn’t help but melt. Steve didn't know if it was the way you let out a dramatic gasp when you ran into his large chest, falling onto the concrete and releasing the papers in your arms, or if it was the sound of your lower, but strong womanly voice as you apologized that sent butterflies tumbling through his stomach. He didn't even know your name and you already had him ready to swoon.

"I am so sorry!" You gasped, rushing to your feet and running after the fly away pages you were holding.

"No, it's my fault, I wasn't paying attention and-" Steve stopped himself from blabbing, frantically chasing after fly away papers in the street, scooping them up in his arms and handing them over to you. You took them from him, a grateful smile on your face as you tucked them into the crook of your arm before bending down to grab the small notebook you had also dropped during your collision. Meanwhile, Steve took the opportunity to really take you in. You were on the larger side, as far as he could tell. The hoodie you were wearing was obstructing his view from your stomach, but he could see that you were probably a C in bra size, your shoulders were broad and slightly masculine, and your legs--oh your legs. The light-washed boot-cut jeans you were wearing were displaying your deliciously thick thighs and beautifully sculpted calves and Steve literally started salivating at the sight. Damn. As you stood back up, he noticed that you were average height, most likely 5'5 (165.1 cm). You weren't what Steve was usually attracted to; pin-up stick thin girls with blonde hair- no you were different. First of all, you were a brunette, as far as Steve could tell, and you were larger, more pudgy in the face than any other girl he had ever set his sights on, but Steve couldn't help himself. You looked like a goddess in his eyes, absolutely perfect. When your almost clear blue eyes met his, framed by large black glasses that only complimented your complection, he noticed the natural rosy tint to your chubby cheeks and the dirty blonde color of your eyebrows. So, you weren't a natural brunette, interesting. Steve would bet money that you looked beautiful both ways, and he had full confidence that he would win.

"Thanks for the help, and sorry again for, y'know, bumping into you." You smiled kindly, clutching the large stack of unorganized, messy papers to your chest.

"No problem and seriously, it was my fault, I shouldn't have been running without looking where I was going and-" Steve cut himself on when he heard you snort softly under your breath, eyes lit with humor. He literally felt his heart melt in his chest. God, what he would do to see you again.

"Steve! Did you not hear me the first time?! CODE ORANGE! I repeat! We have a CODE ORANGE!" Dustin's high pitched voice yelled through the walkie talkie and Steve had never wished more for a child to be dead than in that moment.

"I think you should get that." You chuckled, "Thank you again." Was all you said before walking away, taking a piece of Steve's heart with you. Steve groaned, wishing he could see you again, to ask you what all those papers were for, but you were gone, and he was more likely to marry Jonathan Byers than to see you again. Letting out a sigh, he tried to shake himself free of the disappointment of your exit before answering Dustin, rushing once again to his car.

3 Months Later

Steve couldn't believe his eyes when he saw you again. Over 3 months since he ran into you, and here you were, nestled in the most secluded part of the Hawkins Library, reading from your small notebook and scribbling away at the small paper before turning in your seat to start typing away at the typewriter propped up on the table. Just the sight of you made him breathless, wearing a pair of black leggings and a large graphic t-shirt with the words 'Yeah... No' scrawled across the front.

"Steve!" Nancy whisper-shouted from his side. "You wanted to come with me and Robin, but if you aren't going to take this seriously, I'll sentence you back to babysitting."

"Sorry, it's just-" Steve stopped himself, not wanting to share his crush with Nancy of all people. Robin already knew, since he couldn't shut up about you ever since running into you outside his workplace. She teased Steve about his silly attraction to the girl, but Robin was secretly cheering for him, happy he finally found someone he might find his purpose in.

"It's just what?" Nancy asked, sounding slightly irritated, throwing Steve off. He wasn't thinking when he almost blurted out that the girl he ran into and had a massive crush on was inside the library. Steve wasn't sure if telling an ex that he had once loved that a girl he found insanely hot was weird or not. He didn't want to make anything awkward so he just waved her off.

"Nothing." He shook his head, watching as Nancy rolled her eyes at him playfully before walking off toward the newspaper section of the library.

"What's got your panties all bunched up, dingus?" Robin chuckled elbowing him in the side. "Is it the environment? Too much knowledge, your little brain is hurting." She laughed, clearly enjoying herself.

"Whatever." Steve muttered, annoyed.

"Okay, but seriously though, what has you going all gawky McGee over here?" Robin interrogated, narrowing her eyebrows at him.

"You know that girl I ran into a while ago?" Steve whispered, trying to avoid Nancy overhearing their conversation.

"No, you've only talked about her everyday for three months." Robin sassed, rolling her eyes. "What about her?"

"She's here."

"Like, here here?" Robin asked, shocked.

"Yeah, she's over at one of the tables in the corner, messy space." Steve informed, keeping his back to you as Robin inspected you from over his shoulder.

"Huh."

"What does 'huh' mean?" Steve nervously asks, uncharacteristically picking at his nails.

"Wow. Don't even know her name and you're already whipped." Robin laughed. "Huh, meant that she isn't what you usually go for."

"I know, but there is something about her." Steve trailed off, not quite sure about his infatuation with you either.

"Oh! I have a great idea!"

"Oh god, no." Steve groaned, Robin's 'great ideas' always ended with him either getting his ass kicked, or him getting extremely embarrassed.

"I am going to make you a bet." She smirked mischivously, "If you lose, you have to go ask her out, if I lose, you can pick my punishment."

"Okay," Steve reluctantly agreed. "What is the bet?"

"I bet that she is in college for," Robin trailed off as she studied you, "oh, I know! She's an education major!" Robin smiles proudly, looking at Steve cocky in her answer.

"Ok, so if she is literally any other major, I win?"

"Fairs, fair."

"Alright." Steve agrees reluctantly, and Robin smirks before taking off in your direction. That's when he truly regrets his decision. You were enthralled in what you were doing, fully focused on what you were doing, and completely unaware of the excited girl gunning it in your direction.

"Hello!" She shouts, a little too loud, startling you.

"Uh, hi?" You respond reluctantly and Steve groans inwardly. Really Robin?

"You see that hot guy over there?" The unknown woman asks you and you shoot her a weird look.

"The one with too much hair gel?" You ask, glancing over at Steve who immediately blushes, looking down at his feet. Robin busts out laughing at your comment.

"Dingus does put too much in doesn't he?" She asks, more to herself. "Anyway, we have a little bet running and if I win he has to ask you out." She explains and you get more and more confused. Sure, the guy was cute, and you remembered bumping into him when leaving the arcade one night, but you never expected anyone, especially a guy that hot, to be into you.

"What's the bet?" You ask, curious.

"What is your major?" The woman asks, bouncing in her place with excitement that you were playing along. "I'm an education major, I want to teach fourth graders." You immediately respond, feeling oddly at ease around this mystery girl.

"Yes!" Robin cheers, fist bumping the air. "Please hold..?" She trails off her request, awaiting you to answer with your name.

"Oh, Y/N." You respond, blushing at your late reply.

"Please hold, Y/N." and like a woman on a mission, the girl walks off back towards her friend.

"Guess who's getting their hot date with mystery girl," Robin taunts, sing-songingly. Steve sighs, embarrassed. "Get over there, lover boy, a bet is a bet." With that, Steve is nervously approaching your table, inching towards your busy figure.

"Um, Hi." He says awkwardly, getting your attention.

"Oh, hello." You blush upon seeing his arrival. That girl won her bet it seems.

"My name is Steve." He nervously says. Steve has been out of practice for way too long. "I'm Y/N." You chuckle, and Steve can feel his heart start to race in his chest.

"I bet my friend over there," he says honestly, pointing at Robin who waves at you, "bet me that you were an education major and you obviously are, so, basically, what I'm trying to say here is, will you go out on a date with me Y/N?" Steve stutters, bracing himself for rejection.

"Sure." You gently smile, but inside you're screaming. A guy has never asked you out before. This is wildly new to you, but it's exciting.

"Really?" Steve asks, disbelieving.

"Really." You monotone.

"Wow, great! Wow. What time should I get you?"

"How about I give you my number and you can call and tell me a day and time you're free and I will let you know if I can make it?" You ask, already ripping a small page from your equally small notebook Steve saw you clutching for dear life when he bumped into you. It must be important to you. You wrote down the number to your landline while Steve stood there awestruck at your answer. "Here. Call me." You smile warmly and Steve takes the page carefully before saying that he would see you soon and walking away. Clutching the tiny paper to his chest and secretly thanking Robin for making a stupid bet.

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moonshere · 4 months

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Omori x Dp AU

based on my previous concept of ghost deaths

Danny has been captured. The GIW run never ending tests on him, and his parents join them in their discovery. After years and years of being dissected and broken apart and regenerating over and over, Danny has finally given up. He just wants it to end, he wants to be anywhere but here, he just wants to sleep.

And so, after the scientists have finally killed Danny Fenton, Danny Phantom enters The Dream, and Cosmic wakes up on a comfortable carpet in a quiet little room.

The room is simple. a small laptop with his favorite video game, a notebook filled with facts about space and the universe, a comfortable pile of pillows to lay on, a small little dog snoozing peacefully, a singluar lightbulb glowing eerily, a carpet so comfy one could mistake it for a cloud, a sky filled with endless stars, a sharp knife, and a bedroom door with an adventure behind it.

In there are his best friends Sam, Tucker and Valerie! How nice of you to join us, Cosmic!! Ellie and Jazz are setting up a nice picnic, want to join us?

There are few deaths for the dead, but with Phantom dreaming endlessly. The GIW are ecstatic that their test subject has finally stopped struggling.

Due to the what he went through, Cosmic has a deep-seated fear of the colour white. He also hates sharp, bright colors like neon cyan, orange, green and red.

So headspace is filled with pastel and muted colors. The only paper-white thing is him, with eyes that glow neon green.

Cosmic can't stand to look at himself, he always carefully looks forward and has his arms behind his back. And any reflective surface he looks at immediately shatters.

Headspace is a world of activity and fun. Cosmic is an ansty child who can't sit still. He hates feeling tied down so he and his friends are constantly on different adventures.

the strongest enemy to exist are cute little blob ghosts, and even fighting them for fun doesn't kill them, they enjoy the fight and just reform as soon as the battle ends. Everyone is safe there, there's no need to panic.

The white lightbulb stores his consciousness. Danny is in a deep coma, and the only way to wake him up is to shatter it.

#danny phantom #danny phantom headcanon #dp #dp hc #dp x omori #dissection #tw dissection #moon speaks

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luvvixu · 10 months

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dazai x reader (she/her)

🗒️🕊️ paper cranes

genre: heavy angst, modern au

synopsis: the same situation becomes the same destiny.

how far would you go to declare your love and commitment towards your significant other? for someone like dazai osamu, who grew up in a stinky and monstrous society, he would do anything even if it would literally change him as a whole human-being.

love got him crazy, so don't blame him.

warning: some parts of the scene are based in the true stories. idk but i think i suck at making heavy angst.

word count: 2.6k

a/n: sorry i would always went through writer's block that is why i rarely post things hahahahhs

song: where'd all the time go? by dr. dog

not a single breath was wasted as soon as he heard about another way to make a wish if you're unlucky enough to wish upon the actual shooting star. he immediately went towards your place, unannounced, and started to make paper cranes.

10… for you, just for you.

he was bad at making origami. but he still tries to make it despite his hatred at unperfect lines he flatten on each side just to make a product out of paper. he endures every mistake and imperfections of his work.

50…for you, just for you.

he is willing to rewatch the tutorial on how to make paper cranes even though he's so sick of hearing the annoying voice over. and he doesn't even care anymore about all of the papers getting wasted around him. the papers on his notebook are getting thinner as each minute passes just by trying to make a perfect origami.

100…for you, just for you.

since then, he has spent day and night working. it seems like he forgot how to normally function as his mind only occupied making origami. he accepted this decision with passion, even though his hands were numb and tired.

200… for you, just for you.

as his hair swept on his bangs, he left no choice but to tie it up so that it would not bother his vision, for he's always looking down at the table. no wonder it feels like he couldn't feel his neck anymore because of the numbness and soreness he experienced. he compared the pain of looking down for too long on the rope he used to hang on his neck. there was no doubt the first option hurts more.

300… for you, just for you.

a tear slips on his eyes, you haven't been talking to him for too long. he misses the way your eyes would intertwine with his. the warmth of your small hands on him, feeling the total eccentric emotion as he dives in your galaxy. he would always get himself drunk and lost in your touch. but, anyway, he is getting good at origami.

400… for you, just for you.

it's been months. he now considers himself as professional at making origami, paper cranes to be specific. he can finally make it while both of his eyes are closed. there's also a spark on his hopeful chest when he realizes he's halfway through. those sleepless nights are totally worth it because he's able to look at your peaceful sleeping face while working on origami.

500… for you, just for you.

one day, a friend came to visit you. they were shocked to see more than dozens of paper cranes on the floor. but he doesn't care nor entertain them as he was keeping his attention on his now full time work. he's now halfway through and that gives him a beyond motivation. he could even fold a paper cranes under a minute, and he knew he was improving a lot.

600… for you, just for you.

there was a day where he would just lay down beside you and stare at your sleeping face. his lips would cackle on how adorable you were. he also never fails to mention all of his hardships on making origami. despite that, he took up this hobby like his life depended on it. he literally spends all of his time and money on crafting and buying papers for this.

700… for you, just for you.

he was almost near the end. the paper cranes double up on each weave on his hands. your room is filled with hundreds of paper cranes, each color evident on the ground. he looked at you as you breathed peacefully in your sleep. a smile broke on his lips as he reached out for your hand. whispers his love and declaration towards you, non-stop.

800… for you, just for you.

craft, eat, sleep, wake up, and repeat. these are his routine for the last months and he is consistent with his new schedule. if that would only make him see you shine once again, it will be all worth it. if that would only make you get out of the bed, it will be all worth it. he just loves you so much that it changed him, and he's not complaining about that.

900…for you, just for you.

how did you two end up here? why is he making such a big number of paper cranes? why is he so obsessed with making his wish be heard?

it all started when you almost lost your life in a tragic accident, an attempt suicide. you are saved, but got stuck in a coma. dazai was beyond devastated when the doctors stated that there's a low chance of surviving—but he's in denial. he is still hoping that those beautiful orbs of yours would eventually be seen by him once more.

money isn't a problem to him. he literally threatens the doctors just for you to have a stable supply of life support to help you live. he pours his power to make your life be comfortable, even if you're technically sleeping. so that when you wake up, you won't feel any eerie sensation.

one day, while he's out to get something to eat, there was a stranger telling a story to some stray children in the street. while waiting for the pedestrian light to signal a green light, he couldn't help but to eavesdrop at the story.

it was the story of a girl and thousands of paper cranes.

the girl was diagnosed with a disease. her father told her that if she made thousands of paper cranes, her wish would come true. so, she crafted thousands of paper cranes, hoping that her disease would go away.

after hearing the story, there was a spark in his chest. he admits, it sounds so childish and ridiculous. but he's in love and literally willing to do anything just to keep you alive. that is why he came to your place, unannounced. and he also started to learn how to make paper cranes until he finally reached the end.

999…for you, just for you.

look at him now, he was on the last paper crane. dazai couldn't help but to shed a tear, because after three months, he was able to craft the said number of origami. all of the bloodshed fatigue and sleepless night, with his hands working nonstop, he is near.

"y/n, my darling…" he grabs your thin and pale hand just for him to offer it a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

he stared at your emotionless sleeping face. even though half of your face is covered with a breathing mask, you are still beautiful. he treasures every beauty and flaws of yours. no matter how much you hate the insecurities launched in your body, he loves every single one of it as much as you despise it.

dazai continues to talk to you about his day just like he always does while folding the paper that will serve as his last resort for his wish.

fold and fold…and another fold, until the truth will finally be told.

the male collects all of the paper cranes in your bed, covering your whole unresponsive body with papers. it was so much that some of the cranes fell on the bed. finally, he placed the last crane that completed the mission.

"1000…for you, just for you." he mumbles.

dazai never believed in god, but he prays. now that he completed the thousand paper cranes, he reached out for all of the gods who might hear him please. a miracle should arrive at any moment, all he has to do is to place some faith in you and him.

on the first day, nothing happened to his dismay. but he remained patient. he prayed even harder on the following day but still no outcome. dazai unlocked another routine, praying for a miracle. everyday he would pray for you even if he is an atheist and doesn't believe in the concept of religion.

yet, he still prays, prays, and prayed…until he reached the same length of months while he was crafting the paper cranes. the patience of waiting for you has molded him into another persona, just like a lost man trekking into the unknown.

still no avail, you are not waking up—but he's in denial that he's starting to lose hope on this madness. he is mad, but not at you, he is mad over nothing. dazai was searching for someone to blame on his unsuccessful attempt of waking you up and bringing you back into his arms.

a year had passed, dazai grew thin in malnourishment, but not frail as you. he was walking solemnly towards your room with a balloon in his hand. there's also a piece of paper—paper crane to be specific. before the paper was crafted, it was filled with messy handwriting, a message that only contained three words and eight letters.

"i love you…"

those same three words and eight letters that he failed to declare to you when you're still awake, or should i say, alive. anyway, he rubbed his tired eyes that are now being homed with dark circles under his eyes.

supposedly, he meant to hide the fatigue that's evident on his face. but he realized, he shouldn't cover himself when it comes to you. no secrets and insincere should be tolerated in your vicinity. so, he visits you with his usual self, for today is important.

that's right, today is the day where you are born into this cruel world, your birthday. the same day you got admitted into this damned place, the hospital. and the same day you will be finally set free, forever.

after years of pain, suffering, melancholy, reminiscing, and thinking, dazai finally learned to let you go.

"happy birthday, belladonna." dazai tied the balloon on your wrist. he knew you really liked having a balloon tied on your wrist. you loved the way it sways along the wind.

"i miss you, i hope you are aware." dazai paused with a chuckle. "and i also hope you are aware that you have already missed three years of your life. everything comes so fast, doesn't it?" he continues as he lets his hand intertwine with yours.

"did you like the balloon? i specifically picked the color you like. i also made you a letter—a bunch of them, by the way. i just wished you would wake up and read every single one of them."

dazai let out a sigh, leaning his back on the chair beside you. his eyes trailed on the balloon floating in the air. "i always wonder if you could hear me grumble over some random things. if you do, you would probably laugh at my silliness. of course! i just made a thousand counts of paper cranes."

"on the contrary, i learned so many things that not once in my life, would do it for someone. i learned how to be patient, believe in a story i overheard while walking, pray to the gods that i don't even believe, and craft a paper crane. and most importantly, i learned how to love and do everything for them."

are you hurt? are you in pain? are you lost?

these hidden words are lingering in his fragile mind. dazai wants to mend your wounds. dazai wants to take your pain. dazai wants to make you to be each other's solace. oh, how delusional he is.

sadly, all of the sudden, his plan for both of you fell like a house of card when the clock strikes at six in the evening. the designated icu doctor for you suddenly approaches him without a noticed.

dazai tried not to get distracted by the look in his face, pained and agonized. he flashes a cheerful demure to take his negativities away—yet he failed to do so.

"the doctors told me yesterday…" dazai bites his lips to stop it from trembling. his grip on your unresponsive hand tightens, like he doesn't want to lose you.

"they told me that you are brain dead."

your body system collapses out of nowhere. the doctors were notified about your condition and were extremely hesitant to tell him, but it was no good to keep you in this hell place for any longer. all they had to do was to accept, and all dazai had to do is to also accept.

swallow the hard truth that you will no longer see the world just like how he sees it. digest the hard truth that you are officially gone and will not come back anymore.

in short, you are dead.

"i should've read the signs, you are tired. i'm so sorry, darling. i became so selfish that i let you continue without your consent. i let you suffer for my own desires just because i want you to be with me forever." a tear, followed by another, until he finally broke down right in front of you.

if you're probably still here, dazai knew you would wipe his tears and embrace him like he deserves the whole world. the image of you whispering sweet nothing in his ears is enough to make him feel weak. he literally loves the delusion of it.

"i love you so damn much that i gotta let you go because i have hurt a lot. i am getting an image of yourself saying "is it worth it?" but i am dumb and stupid because i kept on saying "yes". i'm so sorry!" his wails became louder and louder any second was passing. it was like all of his pent up emotions over the last three years had finally come to burst.

he lost his final resort because the next thing he knew, he was standing on the same street where he had heard about the story of the girl and thousands of paper cranes.

dazai was frantic and a mess, his mind was kept in shut. he does not remember a single thing of what happened after his big mental breakdown. but he was sure, a doctor came inside the room and he took him out.

a faint voice reached his ears during that moment. "i'm so sorry, mr. dazai. but just like we have talked to, let's put ms. y/n to rest." the doctor said and dazai was too lost to respond and digest the things he's said.

at that moment, he was somehow aware that they finally shut the machine down that only keeps you from being technically alive. his cold and empty eyes trailed on the balloon in your wrist and then to the clock above your head.

time of death, 11:59 PM…

today is your birthday.

today is your accident anniversary.

today is your deathday.

dazai was staring into the void of darkness as the midnight stars failed to appear in the doom sky. right on his spot, he declares that this place no longer feels like home.

"my y/n, my darling, my belladonna. i seem to have done everything, but why does this still happen?"

little did he know, he failed to hear the ending. the young girl still died even if she crafted thousands of paper cranes and prayed for the gods to let her survive.

he did the same process as the girl from the story and got the same ending—he finished making thousands of paper cranes, yet, you still died.

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#dazai #dazai angst #bsd #bungo stray dogs dazai #bsd dazai #dazai x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #angst #luvvixu

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trapny · 8 months

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Wait I just realized something

In undertale, the different soul colors have different meanings. These meanings also extend to certain attacks that use the colors.

Light blue is patience. Which is why when you see light blue attacks, you just have to stand still.

Orange is bravery. That's why you have to run headfirst into the orange attacks.

Green is kindness. So green attacks heal you.

But undyne does some weird things with this.

In the undyne fight, when her spears get close to you they turn red. Red like determination, which undyne is known to have so much of that she can literally melt herself. Another thing about her spears, is that the ones that switch sides are yellow. The color of justice.

The interesting part of this is that the colors don't have anything to do with the actual mechanics of the attacks. The spear turning red is an indicator that it's about to hit you, but it has nothing to do with determination.

Maybe toby just chose a color without thinking about it, but I feel like it's at least worth considering things with the fact that determination and justice are major parts of undyne as a character. The attacks are colored like that because they're from her.

This idea of the color mechanics having more to do with a character they're related to than they do with the actual trait is way more prevalent than you think, though.

What is the most unique mechanic of the undyne fight? She switches you to the green soul, which is the kindness trait.

instead of dodging, you're blocking. But what does blocking instead of dodging have to do with kindness? Nothing.

But what about the human who had the kindness trait? They carried around a frying pan. A frying pan probably makes a very good shield, and I'm going to bet that the kindness trait used it as one quite a lot, considering that when we find it in hotland, it's burnt. The green soul mechanics don't correlate with the kindness trait. They correlate with the person who had the kindness trait.

This can also be seen in all the other soul colors.

The yellow soul color lets you shoot bullets. Bullets are kind of a neutral party. They don't really have much to do with justice. However, the human with the justice trait carried around a gun.

What about the dark blue soul? Platforming doesn't have anything that inherently relates to integrity as far as I can tell. However, the human with the integrity trait was a ballet dancer. Probably did a lot of jumping.

And the purple soul color in muffet's boss fight? When you first see the lines you probably think "spider web" but you know what it looks even more like? The lines on notebook paper. The perseverance carried around a notebook.

All of the soul gimmicks are based on the humans who had that trait.

Not entirely sure what this all means, but I think it's very interesting.

(I also have a completely separate theory about why the determination soul doesn't have its own soul gimmick if you'd like to hear about it.)

#trapny originals #undertale #undertale theory #soul colors #toby fox #undyne

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etheries1015 · 5 months

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GIRL YK my classmates and I used to have this extremely low budget game in our class. It's snake and ladders, except that our low budget self uses this giant scrap paper from lost and found and cut off some parts of an eraser to make a DIY dice. I also remember one of the pawns/counters being a coin (AND SOMEHOW THE ONE WITH THE COIN IS THE LUCKY ONE. CAPITALIST LUCK??).

Based on the befriending Malleus out of boredom ask, imagine making an extremely low budget game from notebook paper (like diy monopoly, snakes and ladders, or even chess if you have the spare time to cut out all the pieces) because Sir didn't entertain your notes last time 💀.

You also seem to have questionable priorities because you're not worried about asking a fae prince to slack off but you're worried about being caught red-handed. You're very weird but the fae prince likes that, yay!

HAHA YESSS. Malleus noticing you making all of these elaborate chess pieces out of paper, coloring in your notebook, and asking Malleus for more paper. Kind of like a science project where you hold out your hand, in a monotone voice speak what you need, and Malleus hands it to you. He tries to ask you what you're building, but you don't tell him.

A few days pass of this and suddenly you have an entire origami chess game HAHAH. Malleus tries to tell you that you two must pay attention to your studies, but he knows your grades are good. For some reason, you can slack off and ace any test regardless of paying attention to the lecture, so he wasn't...THAT worried. Maybe a bit concerned about how you prioritize your time, but he knew you had a big heart thus he didn't mind all that much.

He loves how weird you are, how oddly interested you are in building all of these silly little games for him to partake in, how serious you can take things people often deem as childish. You manage to keep it from the teacher (or so you think...in reality that teacher is a bit afraid of making malleus angry so he leaves you be.)

y/n is NOT afraid to slack off and make sure the prince is also joining in their silly little games but is afraid of getting caught by the teacher...Malleus looks at you incredibly fondly. Your silliness is just what he needed to get away from the woes of being a prince with a country weighing down on his shoulders.

Gremlin y/n X Malleus Draconia cannon fr

#Malleus draconia #twisted wonderland #twst headcannons #malleus headcannons

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braisedhoney · 6 months

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please tell me about the pigments i would love nothing more than to hear you talk about that one shade of red you like and the process it took too recreate it

... oh, op. you have no idea what you've unleashed.

alright. here we go.

OKAY SO THE RED PIGMENT. pr206. my beloved. my dearest friend. it was an absolute bastard to find because there are so many of these. however many you think there are, there are MORE, and that's only if you don't count the many many scenarios where colors are known to be multi-pigment mixes, usually varying in tone/shade/intensity depending on the brand and manufacturing style. some colors are more consistent than others, but there are situations where a color can be named the same and contain the same pigments and STILL look wildly different depending on the ratio, binder, and paper you use. and that's not accounting for the way the pigment is processed. some pigments (like pv19 for example) can come in so many shades it's frankly kind of ridiculous.

anyway, my quest begins when i am, admittedly, in an edgier phase. i want a blood red, but not specifically because of that—no, i want it because it is THE IDEAL COLOR (to me) for a perfect, warm, slightly muted but still intense shade to add to a muted autumn watercolor palette. and... if you look at my whole theme, you probably know how much i love warm colors. i want to paint mushrooms. i want to dim down some of the brighter greens to make them autumnal. i want the perfect red to put as an undertone.

the search starts in earnest.

the immediate issue is this: reds (and purples and pinks) have horrifically bad lightfastness. not all of them, mind, but many are NOTORIOUS for fading under uv light, which means they will also fade if exposed to sunlight even in passing should it happen often enough. and—in especially bad cases where they're essentially working with dye and not pigment—they can even fade inside your notebook. inside of a drawer.

so not only are we working with an unfortunate pigment base (i'm simplifying here, there's way more nuance to this but shh) but we are working with one that skews heavily toward floral pinks or oranges. the red i'm searching for is warm, but not orange. dries dark but not brown. is transparent, not opaque. that last part is agonizing, because i also desperately do not want a color that will fade on me or generally destabilize, and most of the stable dark red pigments are EARTH pigments like red ochre (pr101) or the like. which, while fascinating because of their historical usage in things like pottery and even cave paintings that last to the modern day, are VERY OPAQUE. this is an issue with my preferred style of watercolor painting specifically, because opaque pigments tend to lift easier off the page and limit layering.

the search continues. pigment after pigment breaks my heart for one reason or another, drying too close to the cooler purpleish-red tint of wine at best. i think i find it in perylene maroon, but the drying shift (the difference between how a color looks wet vs after it dries on the paper) is so extreme that it loses the luminosity AND it's more opaque than most. i languish.

for a while my search turns to creation. i try and mix as many of my single pigment colors as i can into something that vaguely resembles what i'm looking for—so i take quinacridones and mix them with napthols, with nickel azos, with dashes of ultramarines and burnt sienna. everything turns out either just a bit too opaque, just a bit too muddy (that happens with multi-pigment mixtures, and is why so many people swear by single pigment colors. it's personal preference, really, great art can be made either way.)

still, nothing works. failure haunts me. i sit before a pile of used up watercolor paper that is literally covered edge to edge in nothing but similar red squares with various gradients and blooms as evidence of when i tried and failed to convince myself my efforts were close enough. i admit defeat.

in the meantime i shift my focus. i try and appreciate different color palettes and profiles, experimenting with things like fully transparent palettes (personal favroite) to fully opaque ones that function more like gouache. but despite finding appreciation for it, i still think about the damn red that i could never recreate. it kills me.

and then one day, a youtube video. a pigment is being discontinued, and the watercolor community is distressed. this happens a lot, because pigments are actually not always popular because of artists—sometimes beloved colors are put out of production because larger markets like car companies no longer find them popular enough to invest in. this time, the casualty is pr206, aka brown madder, aka quinacridone burnt scarlet.

let me tell you a little about quinacridones. they are genuinely remarkable colors. they have their own cult followings because of how bright and abnormally stable they are under uv light. they're transparent. they're luminous. they come in mostly shades of red and pink and purple, though there are a couple oranges and yellows in there. (there are no quinacridone blues, as far as i'm aware, but the phthalo blues have that category covered.) they also rewet beautifully, so you can put them on your palette and let them dry and not worry about it turning into a useless little rock of color that you can't get any pigment from anymore.

quinacridone magenta (pr122) is probably the most popular of these, the most often used besides maybe quinacridone violet (pv19). a few years prior we suffered the loss of quinacridone gold (po49) and since then people have been On Alert when it comes to losing these colors. i am one of them, because i never got the chance to even see po49 in person, and now the tubes are so stupid expensive that even the student grade versions go for Ridiculously High Prices on ebay, and the professional brands are being hoarded like (ironically) gold by anyone lucky enough to have a tube left over.

but back to our main character. not me, the pigment. pr206. i have legitimately never heard of this one, which to be fair is probably because i try to limit the random colors i fixate on since the hobby can easily get VERY expensive if you aren't careful. but it's a quinacridone, and that catches my eye.

i open the video.

now, i'm sure any artist out there will be familiar with the fact that screens don't display color consistently. it depends on your device, but most can agree that something that looks cooler on one may be warmer on the other, it's just what happens. but i see this color being swatched, and my brain implodes.

it's almost a perfect match.

it could work. it could. years of thinking that same thought have left me bereft and mistrustful of this specific quest marker, but the thought refuses to leave me. probably because the 'discontinued' label flashes like a neon sign.

i resist for about six months, and then i cave. at this point i have genuinely been trying and failing to find this color for upwards of five years. i am desperate, and the color might not be available anymore soon anyway, and apparently i am weak to sales pitches. (note: the color IS now unavailable in some brands, but others bought a decent supply and should have it available for at least a little while, alongside po48 which is quinacridone burnt orange, a favorite of mine and probably one of the only oranges i use regularly. both are discontinued officially, but they'll still be on sale till those supplies run dry.)

the color arrives. i grab my favorite brush. i pull out my stash of paper that i save for special occasions.

it's almost perfect.

i mix it with quinacridone burnt orange.

the result is, i swear, a perfect match for what i have been searching for.

it's warm. it dries dark but not dark enough to look brown. it keeps its luminosity (thank you quinacridones). it's fully transparent (thank you quinacridones). i genuinely feel the urge to weep, but i don't because i am clinging at last to the dredges of my sanity and also salt makes watercolor pigments behave differently and i will not risk this glorious moment. finally, after all these years, bill cipher has a gun i found the goddamn COLOR.

i mix it with warm yellows and with my favorite blues. with the pinks, just to laugh. life is beautiful and i am painting its sunsets, and i do not care if they look ridiculously messy. i have won.

the moral of the story is to never give up. or maybe it's to remember you never actually know everything about even the fields you love the most, because this color totally blindsided me despite being much more common than i expected. or maybe it's that i seriously needed to chill out for a while.

but yes. that is the tale of one (1) of the colors that has taken up residence in my soul. i hope you don't regret asking now lmao.

#ney's art tips (art questions)#ney's chatter (ask answers)#so also i said that a good alternative to pr206 is pr175 #but i'm actually not totally sure about that because i've never tried it myself #watercolor is an expensive hobby and that's part of why i swapped to digital orz #BUT! from comparisons i've seen they are at least similar enough to scratch the itch #ironically i think i still USE po48 more than i do pr206 #but that one is also In Discontinued Limbo where you can buy it but supply is indeterminately limited lmao #still a gorgeous color though.#... wow. this was incredibly niche and probably barely coherent i am so sorry LMAO #but thank you for indulging my color madness. it was the only hobby i had for *ages*.#long post #very very long post #good god is this my longest text post? aside from maybe a hive story?

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marcelshorjian · 7 months

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would you be able to talk about your process of making collages? yours are very striking and beautiful!

hi! thank you for your question!

The first thing about the collages I shared is they're all made from found material. Most of it is from outdoor 'take one, leave one' book stands around my town. I take old textbooks, children's books, anything with pictures, and if there are no illustrated books, interesting covers, novels with beautiful print. You can also open books and scan the pages for loose scraps of paper: you can often find old postcards, receipts, notes, homework...

Once you have your little treasure trove, you can take either a notebook or a loose sheet of paper as your base, and then my advice is to just browse and find images or words that you like and to build around them. Common shapes, symbols, and themes will emerge.

Now that you have the elements you want, switch things around on paper, try out compositions to find what works before gluing things down. You can try to create a sense of depth with layers, or go for a flatter feeling. You can create scenes with a narrative, or a strong underlying feeling. A collage is a juxtaposition so it's all about what blends in and what stands out.

I think one sure way of creating striking collages is to vary the visual sources: a medical diagram on an oil painting, a black and white photograph on a biblical fresco, some bold printed words on a landscape, an ID picture on a playing card. Keep an eye out for color as well. It's good to have one element (or more) that catches the eye, like a bright or saturated shape: I love a strong red against more muted earthy tones.

There are no rules, and I just hope you have fun and surprise yourself with your future collages!

#answered

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dearestones · 9 months

Text

Fairy Rings and Sharp Teeth (Jade Leech and Reader)

Warnings: N/A.

Anonymous Request: Ouuughhhh. I'm absolutely in love with that Jade Leech piece you wrote! Could I request him and "Do you even hear yourself?" (But I totally understand if you want to write someone else, please feel free to do so if you want💜💜) Romantic or platonic, I'd love it either way💜 (But it would be nice if it didn't end on a too sour note, hehe.) Thank you, Devin! And congratulations on the follower count!

It’s not often that you visit the Botanical Gardens outside of school hours. While it was a beautiful space that boasted a variety of plants from various regions of the world, you had no reason to visit outside of potionology lesson plans. Furthermore, after your first run in with the lion prince from Savanaclaw, you were keen on not repeating such an interaction lest he actually decide to put you in your place via physical means. (You also did not want to discount the fact that there were probably other delinquents who fooled around in the gardens and lay in wait for unsuspecting prey).

However, it was by the very nature of the school that you were called to do things that you were not assigned or expected to complete. It was unfortunate, but your fellow first year, Ace from Heartslabyul had fallen sick and had asked you to check on his project in the gardens. Like you, and the rest of the first years, he had been tasked to cultivate a specific plant to provide supplies for future potionology lessons. Had it been something not as important or needing a keen eye for detail, he would have asked Deuce or Grim to cover his bases, but this specific bloom needed daily recording for any changes—both significant and trivial. If his plant died due to negligence, he would have to start over.

And starting over meant that you would incur the ire of one Professor Crewel.

It was due to good fortune and luck that Ace was good friends with you.

Moved by his explanation and the fact that he was still bedridden in the infirmary, you accepted. How could you not? His illness rendered him bedridden and both his face and neck were shiny and tacky with sweat. If you didn’t lean in close enough, you would not have heard his request. With a voice as raspy as an old man thirsting for water and with a fever that was indescribably high, it would have been seen as cruel to refuse.

As you stepped into the temperate areas of the Botanical Gardens, you relished in the scent of pine, beech, and poplar that filled your nose. It was like stepping into a new world—a microcosm enclosed in a space that was strictly controlled by both the fairies and the gardeners stationed within this small world.

A few yards away from where you stood, you spotted a separate plot that had been tilled and was brimming with the fruits of your classmates’ labors. First, before you went to check on Ace’s project—a magnificent bloom that was native to the Queendom of Roses—you decided to make sure that yours was still alive and well. Yours was also a flower from the Queendom, albeit from a different region and was expected to elicit different magical properties once it was brewed into its appropriate potion.

After observing the dark green stem and the corresponding leaves, you pulled out a reference from your backpack, your fingers quickly flipping through the yellowing pages. According to the aged text, your plant would start producing buds within a few more days. If well tended, the flowers would become voluminous and rose-like in shape, but the colors would sparkle and glow once underneath direct moonlight. After noting your observations into your notebook, you headed towards Ace’s plant.

To your relief, his assigned project was not worse for wear. Slightly dehydrated if the light yellowing and coarse dirt underneath was any indication, but nothing a little water couldn’t fix. After writing down your observations on a separate sheet of paper so that Ace could copy it down later, you visited a nearby shed where the supplies were and grabbed a watering can.

After watering the plants with the prescribed amount that was mentioned in your textbook, you began to head out of the gardens.

Guided by your past interactions with the Savanaclaw Housewarden, you made sure to not be too enraptured by the wondrous sights of flowers blooming brilliantly when a certain amount of sunlight hit their petals or becoming slightly awed when you recognized some plants from your home world. Most of the greenery was meant to simulate real world environments (a plaque at the very front of the temperate zone of the Botanical Gardens revealed that it was supposed to be based one of the provinces in the Land of Pyroxene), so you weren’t all too surprised when you came across a patch of grass that looked relatively tame and boring if it were not for the patch of mushrooms decorating the middle of it.

The mushrooms themselves bore dark red caps that were speckled with white spots. Meanwhile, their off-white stalks were short and squat but proudly stood tall in formation. Had you a pair of gloves, perhaps you would have peeked underneath their caps to see what color were their gills. However, you weren’t too keen on landing yourself on a neighboring bed next to Ace. You had risked your life many times during Overblots, but you drew the line at benign looking foliage.

What stood out to you about these mushrooms was that they stood in a near perfect circle; the diameter at least three feet.

You smiled to yourself and approached.

If you remembered correctly, the circle of mushrooms was called a fairy ring. A quick flip through your first year textbook revealed that fairy rings were mentioned within the index, but some examples of the phenomena actually had latent magical energy. Most of the warnings attributed to the fairy circles stated that it was best to leave them well alone and that it was strictly forbidden to step within the circle. Satisfied after satiating your curiosity, you took a photo with your ghost camera, fully capturing the scene.

“Lovely, aren’t they?”

You yelped, the sudden sound of someone asking you a question startling you. If it were not for the fact that the camera had a strap that hung loosely around your neck, you would have thrown the magical artifact at the speaker.

Jade, having probably noted your reaction, merely smiled that benign smile of his before walking towards you, his stride efficient and quick.

“Er, hi?” A little hesitant at his approach, you had to will yourself to not back away. Really, your initial reaction was born out of inborn instinct and not because you still had negative memories of Azul’s Overblot and the events preceding it. (The thought that Azul was still plotting revenge never quite left you, though). Knowing that, you didn’t want to expose weakness easily—you were all too aware that his sharp teeth weren’t just for show, he was still technically a predator. “What brings you here, Jade?”

He gestured at the fairy ring behind you, the cool smile he usually employed melting into something more… genuine. It was not an abrupt shift—it was like watching an ice cube melt in lukewarm water—but it was jarring all the same to see him so happy.

“I have yet to see a naturally occurring fairy ring during my hikes in the mountains.” He shook his head, a mournful show that could have moved you to tears had you been a little more foolish and susceptible to his tricks. “I’ve only just recently started studying this particular ring after one of the gardeners alerted me to its appearance. Had I known that the conditions here can lead to the unpredictable fruiting, I would have begun searching for rings such as this much, much earlier.”

You blinked in confusion. Normally, Jade wasn’t this forthcoming. “You like fairy circles?”

An amused smile graced his face as he shook his head at your question. “Not necessarily, but finding one within the school grounds is a boon that I endeavor to cultivate for my own needs.” You wanted to ask what he meant by that, but then you remembered that this was Jade Leech and it was better to not know. “What I find most fascinating about the surface is the various forms of flora and fauna, but most of all, fungi.”

Had you looked away at the wrong moment, you would have missed the yearning gaze in his mismatched eyes as he studied the mushroom. Honestly, it was almost as if he was seeing something cute and worthy of his time—a feat that you had to see elicited by anyone or anything else. It stunned you to see such a soft look in his eyes, but you refrained from speaking.

Huh.

You had no idea that Jade had interests outside of working as Azul’s Vice Housewarden or as a staff member for the Mostro Lounge. It was strange to see him speaking so openly about something that he clearly held close to his heart. The candid nature of both his tone of voice and even his body language (usually so reserved and tight, had become almost loose and relaxed like his brother’s mannerisms) had the unintended effect of soothing you as well.

For the first time since your very first meeting, you actually wanted to spend time with the Octavinelle student.

Imagine that! You, a small and very vulnerable human, actively wanted to hear more about mushrooms and fungi even though you weren’t exactly knowledgeable about mycology.

And it wasn’t like you were doing this to get in Crewel’s good graces either. Being average in a class meant for students who actually had magic and the means to brew potions daily was more than enough for you.

Perhaps it was because seeing Jade’s lowered guard (or a seemingly convincing facade) felt like an invitation. It wasn’t often that you spoke or hung out with the upperclassman… And it wasn’t like he was actively trying to recruit you into working for Azul without pay or even swindling you into a contract.

Did you even hear yourself?

You had either accidentally inhaled too many fungal spores or maybe Ace’s plant project had the unintended effect of causing hallucinations. Despite that, however, you found yourself setting your bag upon the patch of grass near the fairy ring (you were careful as to not accidentally disturb any of them) before patting at the spot next to you. At the confused expression on Jade’s face (you thought maybe he was faking it, but you still smiled at him in anticipation), you gestured for his presence once more.

“Can you tell me more? Professor Crewel says that we’ll focus more on fungi next semester, but it never hurts to be prepared.”

Jade’s eyes widened before he plopped onto the ground next to you—plopped!—before pulling out a thick, battered textbook filled with stray notes and plastic markers littering the pages within. “Too true, Prefect, one should always be prepared, especially when it comes to the identification and classification of different types of fungi, but most importantly…” He rapidly flipped to what appeared to be a random page within his textbook, until you saw that it bore the chapter title and appropriate picture depicting—

“Mushrooms!”

You leaned closer to him, not at all caring that he was within biting distance.

If Ace was lucky, he would get your updates about his project before curfew. And if not? You could just visit the infirmary first thing in the morning.

For now, you had something more important to do.

If you want to donate a Ko-Fi, feel free https://ko-fi.com/devintrinidad.

TWISTED WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland jade #twst jade #jade leech #twisted wonderland jade leech #twst jade leech #twisted wonderland reader #twst reader #platonic reader #gender neutral reader #gn! reader #jade leech and reader #dearestones #devintrinidad

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